


Within

by Mack_the_Spoon



Series: Within [1]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction/Fantasy, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:55:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the stress and confusion of the hunt for Berlin, while Tom is still Liz's captive, Red is forced to reveal some of Liz's past to her in order to save her life. It's nothing that Liz could ever have prepared herself for, nor could anyone imagine the implications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is much darker and a little weirder than I'd usually write. It hurts me to cause Liz such angst, believe me! But the plan is for it to lead somewhere cool, I promise.

~~~~~~

It was past time. He knew it was. It had been a long while since Tom had been in the picture in any constructive way, and he didn't even know the extent of what the man had done to her – which physically pained him. But she was so angry, so mistrustful. She didn't want anyone close, and how could he blame her for that? He didn't want to make things worse by giving her current paranoia a legitimate outlet. Yet if too much more time passed, the consequences could be dire.

Not coincidentally, Dembe had been telling him more and more frequently that he needed to tell her the whole truth now. And though he knew his friend was right in theory, in practice he couldn't begin to imagine what the truth would do to her. And what it would do to him, when she hated him for it. Because she would.

Still, when it was Lizzie's life verses his comfort, or even her comfort, there was only one possible choice. And he had seen how tired she was all the time now. She didn't know it, but it was just going to get worse unless something was done about it. He couldn't let that happen.

So, one evening, he invited himself over to her current miserable motel and sat down in the uncomfortable chair. “Lizzie, you've been exhausted for weeks now. Possibly longer. It isn't getting better, is it?”

“Did you come here to badger me about my health? Because, if so, can we skip that? I am tired, as you so observantly pointed out, and I'd like to sleep,” she said.

“Sleeping isn't helping,” Red said seriously. “Not enough.” It was not a question.

She stared at him. “What's this about, Red?” She crossed her arms.

He paused, making sure his thoughts were in order. “What did Sam tell you he did for a living, Lizzie?”

Her eyes widened, and then they narrowed. He could tell she was trying to find the connection between the topics, though he doubted she would. Finally, she scoffed lightly and gave in. “He was a mechanic. And I know he was, because I went with him to his shop sometimes.”

Red nodded. “Yes. He always was Gifted at repairing and building.”

She heard the capital 'g' and looked startled again. “I wondered,” she said slowly. “I never asked, but I wondered. He never said. But he was really good at it. His customers were very loyal.”

“There's a reason Sam kept his affinity a secret, beyond the fact that he was always a private person: it was because he used it for purposes that he preferred to keep quiet, especially from the government,” said Red.

She looked down. “Oh.”

“His passion was illegal not because of its destructive nature,” Red said gently, “but because of its unregulated status. Did you know that Sam studied medicine in university, before he dropped out?”

“Medicine?” She frowned. “Why would someone with a Gift for engineering study medicine?”

“He had a theory that the two fields weren't as unrelated as is commonly thought,” said Red. “I've never known anyone with a mind like Sam's. He was right, of course, as recent science has shown: everything from bioengineering to pacemakers shows that that the two can and must work together. But that's not exactly what Sam was interested in.”

“Then what?”

“He wanted to learn to apply his Gift directly to the mechanics of the human body.”

“What? No, healing affinities are incredibly rare. He couldn't have had both,” she said.

“Of course not,” Red agreed. “That's not what I meant. Once Sam learned enough about how the human body works, he was convinced his own affinity would work on human bodies.” He paused. “He was right, Lizzie.”

Lizzie stared at him in stunned silence. “Oh my God,” she finally said. “So... what was he doing that he didn't want the government to know about?”

“Cybernetics,” Red said. “Far beyond the scope of any legitimate medical research at the time. And his discoveries, particularly in how to interface between organic systems and electronic equipment, are still quite advanced. I would call them state-of-the-art except that the art, such as it is, hasn't actually ever duplicated them.” He watched her take that in. “I know, because I've been funding some of those who took up Sam's work ever since then, but none of them have approached his genius.”

Lizzie pressed her lips together. “Red. Why are you telling me this? Not that I'm not grateful to know, but you didn't come here to share some of my father's past with me.”

“Not exactly, no,” said Red. “I came because I've had personal experience with your father's work. And so have you.”

She sat back on the bed, crossing her arms again. When she spoke, her voice was uncertain. “What do you mean?” He thought she probably had more of an idea than she was letting on, but if he needed to prompt her, he would.

So Red proceeded to roll up his right shirtsleeve to the elbow. “I'll show you.” She made a startled half-exclamation, but he could feel her eyes on him. “It was fortunate indeed for me that Sam had already made great strides in his work when my right radius was shattered in a firefight years ago. I could have lost the use of my arm, or much of it.” Then, awkwardly, he reached with his left hand to find the pressure points along the invisible seam. When the skin came open, she gasped. “Instead, Sam replaced the bone, and even joined it with my intact wrist and elbow.”

Lizzie leaned forward, looking both horrified and interested. “Why... why aren't you bleeding right now?”

“I don't really understand all the details,” Red admitted. “Sam had to replaced the blood vessels that were damaged by the bullet, as well as the bone. They aren't connected to this artificial skin that he also gave me – at least, not in the same way natural blood vessels are to natural skin. That turned out to be prudent. He had to replace this bone one more time, since his prototype wore out faster than we expected.” Aware that she was still watching, he touched the bone with his left pointer finger, and then closed the opening and sealed it.

She swallowed. “Wow.”

Red smiled. “Yes. You can see, also, why Sam told only his trusted friends about even his secret business. It doesn't take much imagination to picture a villain along the lines of the comic books I used to read wanting to enhance his or her own body using this kind of technology in order to become-”

“- Wolverine?” Lizzie cut in, an eyebrow raised.

Laughing, he nodded, rolling his sleeve back down. “Anyway, Sam wanted to help people who needed it, not to have his work used in some ghastly arms race. And I've kept his work going for the same purpose.”

“Wait, you said we both have personal experience with this,” Lizzie said. “And you came in tonight telling me I was tired, like – like you know what's going on.” Her eyes were wide again, now, in shock, realization, and hurt. “I was... I was sick when I was little. He told me it was asthma, but then when I was older, he said I'd actually had a lung transplant. But it was a special kind, and only a special kind of doctor could do it.” She was breathing quickly, which probably wasn't a good thing at this point.

Red tried his best not to let all his emotions show as he remembered how she had looked when he'd finally made his way to her in the dark and the smoke. “He was right. And that wasn't all. A great deal more than your lungs was involved.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered. “How...” her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat. “How much more?”

“Sam saved your life,” said Red, closing his eyes for a moment. “The fire... the building was collapsing on you. You had massive internal damage, not to mention the burns.” He had to not completely give in to his remembered panic. She was scared enough now as it was. “It was sheer luck that he had been perfecting his technique with vital organs in the time leading up to that night.”

There were tears on her cheeks now. “What are you saying? Tell me. Tell me what happened to me!”

“Lizzie, the reason you've been so tired is that your heart and lungs need maintenance,” Red said, skipping to the most important information. “You'll be fine, but for a number of reasons, it's been too long since the last time this was done.”

She choked. “My heart? _Maintenance?_ How did – I never –” Shaking her head, she drew back. He watched her try to calm down. “No. My dad told me I needed to pay attention and call him if I ever got really tired and didn't know why. I guess you're right that I need to do something about this. Maybe I'll go see a doctor, since I can't call Sam.”

Red flinched. He deserved that. “You can't see a regular doctor, Lizzie. There's only one doctor who can help you now that Sam can't. Let me take you to him.”

“Why do you know about this?” She stared at him, mistrustful. “I never told anyone. Sam made me promise!” At his silence, she scoffed. “Of course you won't tell me. Not even when it's about my own body. Well, I don't want to go with you. I'm not even sure I believe you, that Sam was some kind of Dr. Frankenstein or that there's anything more to me feeling tired than the transplant I had when I was a little girl, at most. Just because you showed me a weird thing you have going on with your arm doesn't mean I'm – I'm some kind of car that needs a tune-up!”

“No, you're not,” said Red. This was not going well. He had to convince her of how serious this could get if she didn't listen. “But I don't lie to you, Lizzie. I realize this is hard to take in. If you let me introduce you to Dr. Steiner, I can prove that I'm telling the truth, and that you need help.”

She stared at him for a few seconds. Then she shook her head again. “No. No, this is crazy! I don't know what you're talking about. Leave me alone, Red. You don't get to just tell me how to live my life, without even telling me why you care.”

“I'm sorry,” said Red, drawing a breath, “but I can't leave you alone. This is too important.”

She let out a cry of frustration, then pushed herself off the bed and grabbed her keys and gun off the bedside table. “Fine! If you won't get out of my house, then I'm leaving.”

“Lizzie!” He stood, but she was already out the door. He heard a car start as he quickly left the room, just in time to see her pull away in her SUV. Dembe gave him a pointed look that was thankfully restrained. “We've got to follow her, Dembe.” He should have anticipated this. He had hoped that at the end of a day, when she was already so tired, fleeing wouldn't have been her choice.

They set off a minute later, following the readout from her BioMonitor. She was moving fast, and Red frowned at the reading. Her O2 sats and heart rate were getting more serious. “Turn left,” he told Dembe. “She's getting on the freeway.” Where was she going? Perhaps she didn't even know.

He didn't speak to Dembe except to give directions for the next five minutes. When the BioMonitor suddenly showed her exiting before they had caught up, he frowned again. He couldn't think of anywhere in particular this exit would take her. But she was hurt and scared. He didn't know how clearly she was thinking.

At least they could see her car now, several vehicles ahead. She pulled off and stopped in front of a park. Her door opened, but she didn't get out. Somehow, that alarmed him more than if she had kept fleeing. His own heart in his throat, he got out of the car as soon as they parked, Dembe following quickly. “Lizzie!” He hurried to the side of her car.

She didn't respond. That was likely because she was gasping for breath so loudly that she might not have even heard him. There were tears in her eyes and she was shaking.

“Lizzie, we're going to get you out of here and get you better,” he said, bending down and unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Red...” she whimpered, between gasps. “Can't... breathe...”

“I know,” he said, giving in to the need to stroke her face. “Just hold on for a few minutes, and we'll get you better.” He slipped his arms around her shoulder and under her knees, and picked her up.

She made a sound of protest and tried to move, but then slumped against him. “Fix...” she gasped, “like a... broken-down car.”

“No, like a sick human being,” he said gently, swallowing at the pain on her face, as Dembe led the way back to their car. The situation was urgent enough that even the short distance this required seemed far too long. But Dembe, as level-headed and prescient as ever, was on the phone with the warehouse, getting them ready.

“It's... true, though?” she said, her eyes half-closed, still scattering tears whenever she blinked.

“Yes, Lizzie,” he told her. “All of it: the story I told you at the motel, and the part where we're going to get you better.”

Still wheezing horribly, her face deathly pale, she nodded. Then she closed her eyes and didn't speak. He had to remind himself to keep inhaling and exhaling. He would do her no good at all if he lost it here.

Once they reached the car, Dembe opened the back door and helped Red place her gently across the back seat. Red kept her head leaning on his lap, on the chance that a slightly raised airway would help. As Dembe sped off, Red cursed his own lack of foresight for not including oxygen in the first aid kit he kept in this car. She could not, must not, die before they even had a chance to save her.

It would almost have been a mercy if she had passed out, however. Instead, she sank into semiconsciousness, occasionally moaning in fear and pain between gasped breaths. He whispered encouragement, and checked her pulse compulsively. It continued, too, though he was certain he wasn't imagining that it was getting weaker.

“We're here, Raymond,” Dembe told him, and he could have cried with relief.

A stretcher met them at the car, and he watched as if outside of himself as the men who worked for him – who continued Sam's work – carefully placed her on it and immediately attached an oxygen mask to her face. “Is everything ready?” he asked, and no one could have mistaken his voice for calm.

“Yes, sir,” said the man at the head of Lizzie's stretcher, and they pushed her inside.

Lizzie reached a hand weakly to the mask. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she made a sound that could have been his name.

“Lizzie, don't try to move. We're going to help you now,” he said, his voice choked.

Somehow she had gotten the mask off. “Scared,” she whimpered.

“I know,” he told her, stroking her face and gently replacing the mask. “But we'll take care of you.”

“We're going to need to intubate while we check the viability of the organs,” said the other man. He had a syringe of sedative prepared.

The terror in Lizzie's face was killing him. “Wait,” he ordered the man, who stepped back obediently. Then he turned back to her. “Lizzie, you're going to be all right. I won't try to tell you not to be afraid, but I hope you'll hear me when I say that nothing bad is going to happen. We're just going to make you better. That's all.”

The fear in her face diminished only the tiniest amount, but that was something. He took her hand, and she held on without much strength. “All right,” he said quietly to her, and then he turned to the waiting technician and repeated, “All right.”

The man came forward. He rubbed a cotton ball with alcohol on her arm, at which Lizzie flinched before she seemed to realize what was going on. Then he injected the syringe.

Red held her hand until her grasp relaxed. Then he let go, stroked her face one more time, and stepped back to let the others get to work. They turned her head and attached a sensor pad to the back of her neck before returning it to its original position. At the same time, others had taken off the oxygen mask and were attaching her to the machinery that would help her ailing lungs function.

Steven Steiner, the head technician, quickly loaded the BioMonitor program that would give them more detailed readings from the chip. He took a sharp breath. “Well. I don't know what all she's been through since her last maintenance. Her heart's going to be all right with just a replacement of the power cells, I think. But the lungs? We may have to replace those completely.”

Red cleared his throat, forcing himself to unclench his fists. “And is that going to be a problem?”

He looked up from the computer screen. “Theoretically, it should be fine. She'll have to be deactivated for longer than it would take just for the tune-up, and she'll need to take it easy for a few days after that, but we were ready for this possibility.”

Nodding, Red glanced toward the screen. “And everything else?”

“It seems to be fine. We'll clean everything out and run a diagnostic on the chip, plus the usual scan of all the equipment,” said Steve. “But as you know, nothing else gets quite the workout that the circulatory system does.”

He nodded again. “All right.”

“Let's get to work,” said Steve, to the others. They wheeled her over to the main surgery table, then hooked her up to the modified ECMO machine that would keep her alive while neither her heart nor lungs were functioning. Steve entered the series of commands to the chip that initiated suspension of all her major functions, and then they detached her from the ventilator.

Situating himself so that he wouldn't have to watch the procedure itself, Red sat and watched Lizzie's face as they got to work on her heart first. It had been a while since he had been present for this. As usual, he had to remind himself that she wasn't dead – that this was keeping her alive. He wished for the millionth time that this had never happened to her, or that she had been eligible at the beginning for a (comparatively) simple transplant, or for anything that would give her more independence from this.

An hour later, they carefully cleaned everything involved in the procedure with her heart, and then closed her up. The technicians took a ten-minute break, during which they shifted Lizzie so that she was lying on her front, and prepared the replacement lungs. Red took the opportunity to tell her (though there was no way she could hear) that he would still be close. Then he went out into what passed for the waiting room. After all this time, he still couldn't stand to watch her be opened up as completely as it would take in order to replace her lungs.

“How is she?” Dembe asked.

“Alive,” Red said. Then he sighed and sank into the chair opposite his friend. “They're done with the heart. Now it's on to the lungs.”

“And she will be all right, when that's finished?”

“Yes,” he replied. “As all right as she ever is.” Physically that should be true, in any case. The damage this was causing to her psyche would not be so quickly repaired.

“Good,” said Dembe. “Raymond, her phone rang several times while you were in there. Once, it was Cooper. But the second and third times, it was an unlisted number. I didn't answer.”

“I should call Harold,” said Red. “No need for him to set the whole task force on alert.” Steadying himself, he took his phone from Dembe and informed Lizzie's boss in a passably normal-sounding voice that Agent Keen had apparently had an unfortunate incident with her phone, but that he would be speaking to her soon and could pass on any message Harold needed him for.

“And why are you the one telling me this?” was the man's predictably tense response.

“Harold, it's the time of night for all decent people to be asleep. Do you have a message, or not?”

“Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow.” He hung up before Red could offer him a 'good night'.

“As for the other caller,” Red said, handing Dembe the phone, “have someone trace that number. Agent Keen has been hiding something from me for several weeks, and I have a suspicion that call has something to do with it.” And if it had to do with the person he thought it did, he needed to know. He respected Lizzie's desire to take back some control in a life that had been spiraling for some time. That was why he hadn't flat-out followed her to wherever she'd been disappearing. But if she wouldn't tell him when she woke up, he would have to find out for himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the first chapter - thanks to Namarie for the edits, and for telling me her interesting dream that inspired this story.

~~~~~~

Despite his gnawing worry and the uncomfortableness of the chair, Red must have slept for at least an hour or so. He was awakened by the sound of the door to the waiting area opening. “What is it?” he asked, immediately on alert.

“Ms. Keen has come through the procedure safely. Heart and lungs are both functioning normally. Dr. Steiner wanted to know if you wanted to be present while he runs the scans,” said the technician at the door.

“Yes, thank you,” said Red, standing stiffly. He exchanged a glance with Dembe, then followed the other man back into the main room.

Lizzie was lying on her back, an IV in one arm, asleep. There was more color in her cheeks, and she was breathing normally. He watched the reassuringly steady heart rate monitor for a few seconds, touched her hand, and then turned to where Steve waited.

“She's doing fine. But, Mr. Reddington, I thought you should know I'm expecting this diagnostic to show signs that someone's been tampering with her hardware.”

Red clenched his jaw. He had hoped, desperately, to be wrong in his suspicions. “What makes you say that?”

He sighed. “Well, for starters, the readings from her chip are giving more data than we'd expect. As if it's monitoring more equipment than usual.”

“Someone put something else in her?” Red said, feeling a muscle in his face twitch.

“I'm afraid so,” said Steve, frowning. “We didn't see any new hardware in the chest cavity while replacing her lungs, so I can't be any more specific yet. However, that would also be consistent with the unusual amount of wear and tear on her circulatory system. Even with how long you said it had been since she had been maintained, I wouldn't have expected quite this response yet – unless something else was adding to the strain.”

“What about now? The replacement lungs, her heart – they'll be able to handle whatever was done to her?” Red was going to kill Tom Keen the next time he saw the man. He hoped he would be able to confirm that he was indeed responsible first, but the man was going to die.

“Mr. Reddington, you know I can only guarantee so much,” said Steve. “But the new lungs have extra power capability, anyway, and we upped the capability in her heart after we double-checked those readings. She should be all right.”

Red sighed. “And if the diagnostic doesn't locate this new addition, I assume you'll try other scanning methods.”

“Of course,” said Steve. “We need to know what we're dealing with.”

“Fine,” said Red. Steve knew his job, so there was no point in pressing him any further at this point.

Steve bent over the keyboard and entered a few commands. The diagnostic started running. Its first result, and the most important, was that the chip itself was working fine. Then it went on to report on her heart, lungs, liver, diaphragm, ECMO ports, artificial blood vessels, and sternum and rib cage, as well as the nerve function in her replacement skin. All these were normal, healthy. However, whereas normally the scan would end there, it continued running. And then it stated, 'Remote Access Point: normal parameters.'

“Remote Access?” Red said. He shut his mouth, though, because it still wasn't done.

After a few, tense minutes, the program announced, 'Memory Extraction Point: normal parameters.' And finally, it added, 'Failsafe Device: inactive.' Then the program ended.

Red rubbed his face with a shaking hand. He felt like he should have some vocal response to this information, but he was afraid if he spoke, he might just scream. Good God. He should have pulled her out of Tom's grasp as soon as he knew the operative was compromised, clues to Berlin be damned.

“Mr. Reddington?” Steve was asking. “Sir?”

He shook himself mentally. “Yes?”

“I believe the only place these new pieces could have been installed without actual surgery would be in the same area as where the chip is,” said the doctor. “Which means we should be able to remove them without surgery, as well.”

“Good,” Red managed, his voice hoarse. “The fact that the last item is called a 'Failsafe' – will it be safe for her, to have it removed?”

“We'll examine it very carefully, sir,” said Steve. “But the program shows it as inactive, and that is a positive sign.”

Red nodded, and positioned himself in his usual spot. He watched as the technicians carefully turned Lizzie on her side, moved the sensor pad off her neck, and opened the panel of skin. The chip was there, but even he could see that there were other small pieces of equipment, as well. Each of the three objects was examined in detail.

They identified the Remote Access Point first, by its use of modified Bluetooth technology. Thankfully they then removed it without any trouble. The Failsafe was identified next, by the way it was attached into her brainstem. Steve informed Red that they were going to remove the Memory Extraction Point first, just so they could spend the longest amount of time making sure to remove the Failsafe with the utmost care.

The second removal was also easy enough. But the technicians spent a number of minutes discussing how to take out the Failsafe without causing brain damage. Apparently, it wasn't in as firmly as the original control chip, but it was still a delicate issue. “It has to be able to be removed. Whoever put it there would know there was a chance it could malfunction, or need to be replaced,” said one of the men.

“Yeah, but it is pretty well attached,” another man replied.

Red almost stood up and left rather than hear them discuss this as if it were a particularly challenging math problem, but he couldn't leave Lizzie. Finally, however, just as he thought he might have to start hitting something or someone, one of the technicians discovered a tiny switch. They compared it with diagrams of their own equipment, determined it was the power switch, and pressed it. Red was relieved enough when the small yet awful machine came out of its own accord that he had to sit down in the folding chair that was provided for him.

From there, it was a simple matter of closing her back up, and starting the diagnostic again to make sure everything was as it should be. Thankfully, the scan seemed to be running as expected this time around. Somewhat less expected, however, was that Lizzie started to wake up before it was quite over. He heard a sound from the table, and when he turned, her terrified face was looking around the room.

She listened to his reassurance that she would be fine. But it was easy to tell that she was overwhelmed – as well as still scared. He needed to get her out of this place and back somewhere more familiar.

“Mr. Reddington?” Steve said apologetically. “I'm sorry to interrupt. The diagnostic was completely normal this time.”

“Good. Thank you, Steven. Would be you so kind as to go inform Dembe that we'll be leaving shortly?”

In the meantime, Red helped Lizzie sit up slowly, and he took the sensor off her neck. “How's that? Still feeling all right?”

Lizzie nodded. She didn't say anything, though that made perfect sense considering how sore her throat must be from the ventilator. She looked shell-shocked. He hadn't planned for her to see as much as this yet, but perhaps it would end up for the better.

When Dembe came in, he helped Lizzie into a wheelchair while Red discussed one final thing with the doctor. Finally, though, the three of them left the warehouse. Lizzie's sigh of relief into the early morning air was audible – and blessedly free of any sign of wheezing.

She insisted on standing to seat herself in the car. Dembe collapsed the wheelchair and put it in the trunk, handing her a bottle of water before getting into the driver's seat. Though she smiled at him in gratitude and drank the water, Lizzie still didn't speak for several minutes as they drove off.

“Where are we going?” she eventually asked, her voice raspy and quiet.

“I'm taking you to where I'm staying,” said Red. “You should call in from work today, and probably tomorrow as well. You'll need to rest, and allow your body to adjust.”

She found her phone silently and then called in to the Post Office, explaining that she wasn't feeling well (her hoarse voice probably helped sell that) and that she wouldn't be going in. Then she added that she would be in touch with Reddington and make sure he wasn't planning to bring them any new cases. Cooper, or whoever was on the other end, must have accepted that. She hung up and then looked at him for a few minutes. “I'm guessing I know the answer,” she finally rasped, “but why didn't you tell me before? Or...” her eyes slid away, “why didn't Sam?”

“He – we both wanted you to have as normal of a life as possible,” said Red. He was honestly surprised she was this alert – she must have been asleep long enough for much of the anaesthetic to wear off.

She nodded. “Okay. But how is it possible that I could just think I had a transplant? Why don't I remember anything... anything like this, what just happened? My dad never took me anywhere like that warehouse.”

“His workshop was bigger than you remember, perhaps,” said Red. “I believe that, whenever you required a procedure more involved than the nebulizer, you were sedated for that time period.”

“Oh.” She swallowed, paling. Then she crossed her arms, shut her mouth, and shrank in on herself. To his dismay, although it was hardly a shock, she seemed to be crying. She was doing her best to keep it quiet, but, though she was facing away from him, he could see her tremble and hear her sharp breathing.

She continued to cry for the entire rest of the trip. Red's own heart felt like it had been put through the wringer by the time the car stopped in front of the house where he and Dembe were staying. This was even more excruciating than he had feared. He wanted her to keep being angry at him, to yell, to tell him to get out of her life – anything but this sad, resigned crying. It hadn't been that long since she had been mourning Sam, and now it looked like she was mourning again. Exactly what it was that she felt bereaved of, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to bear knowing.

Whatever the case was, it at least made it easier to escort her into the house and through the hall into the bedroom that was set up for her. He told her, his voice wavering, that he and Dembe would be here if she needed them. Lizzie didn't even look at him, though he thought she'd nodded. She closed the door behind him when he left.

Red sat down heavily on the couch in the main room. He put his face in his hands. Lizzie was strong. She'd proved that repeatedly since he'd returned to her life. But he had to admit to himself his growing fear that this would be the last straw, that her mind and soul, that fire – the things that truly made her who she was, not the physical parts of her body – would be crushed. And then he would truly need a miracle if there was to be even the possibility of making her well again.

“Raymond,” said Dembe, startling him out of his wallowing, “we have a hit on the trace.”

“Ah,” said Red. It would do no one any good if he allowed himself to despair already. After all, Lizzie was alive, and she trusted him enough to share space with him. He had to be strong for her. He also had to find out what she had been up to recently. He took the phone from Dembe.

~~~~~~

Several hours later, with no sign of stirring from Lizzie's room, Red knocked at her door. There was no response, and he tried not to let that worry him. “Lizzie? Dembe and I are about to have breakfast.” He still heard nothing from inside, and so he pushed open the door.

The room was dark, but he still could see her sit up in bed. Her hair was a mess, and he saw as he entered that her face was damp with tears. “I'm not hungry,” she said flatly.

“You need to eat,” he said. She blinked, but didn't reply. “There's a wonderful bakery just down the street from here. Dembe must have ordered their entire breakfast menu. Not just bread, either – they make a bacon, cheese, red pepper, and avocado omelette that transcends the normal mortal experience of the humble chicken egg.”

He thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her face, although he wouldn't have bet on it. “Fine. Just, um, let me freshen up a little.”

“Of course,” he said, and shut the door.

She came out ten minutes later, still wearing the rumpled clothes she'd had on when she fled her motel, but otherwise looking fairly put-together. She had washed her face and pulled her hair back. “That does smell good,” she admitted when she came into the kitchen.

“Take whatever you like,” said Red.

She examined the food, which was laid out buffet-style, and put a muffin, part of the omelette, and half a bagel on her plate. Moreover, when they sat down at the dining room table, she didn't act like she was forcing herself to eat. Red ate his own breakfast with much more satisfaction than he'd imagined he might.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I was just going to ask,” said Lizzie. “I didn't get a lot of sleep once we got here.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said mildly, and didn't pry.

Dembe pointed out the coffee maker, and she poured herself a cup, sitting back down to drink it. She had a frown on her face, though it looked more thoughtful than angry or sad. “So, I get hungry and I eat until I'm satisfied. I drink coffee and it acts like a stimulant for me. I don't, um, run off electricity, or something?”

Red put down his coffee. It was important that she was willing to ask about this. If he could help her be less afraid of her own body, that would be a huge step in the right direction. “Your digestive system is largely unchanged from the one you were born with. Thus, your body derives energy from food, mostly in the same way as anyone.”

“Mostly?” Both of her hands gripped her cup.

“The exception being that your replacement organs do use a kind of battery to function. These batteries are partially charged by the natural electrical current in your body. However, to be completely charged, they need more voltage. That's part of what was done last night: each of the power cells in your replacement organs were entirely replenished.”

Lizzie's grip tightened for a moment, and then she leaned back. Then she nodded, obviously uncomfortable. “Okay.”

“Lizzie,” said Red, still uncertain as to how much either of them could handle right now. He took a sip of coffee. “You're human. I realize this must be an extremely difficult development for you. But you are human, and you're still yourself.”

Now her frown was a real one, and she put her empty mug back down on the table with more force than was necessary. “As opposed to a robot? Yeah, I figured I'm not. I've watched some _Star Trek_. I think the proper term is 'cyborg'. But then again, I don't know. I could be wrong. I don't even know how much of me is – is inorganic material.” She pushed her chair back, her eyes flashing. “Anyway, I guess I've been this way since I was a little girl, so I wouldn't know what it feels like to be a normal human. Who knows? Maybe I went into psychology out of an instinctive desire to understand what I'll never have!” Her voice breaking on the last phrase, she whirled around and stalked off quickly to her room, slamming the door behind her.

All of a sudden, Red wished he had eaten less. The only small mercy in her tirade was that it showed she was trying to work through this, although it was clear she hadn't gotten very far. And part of that, he realized, was something he could have remedied already if he'd gone about this more intelligently. Sighing, he stood and went into the study, where he unlocked a strong box and found the printout he'd requested from Steven Steiner.

Then he went to stand by her closed door. He closed his eyes at the sobs he could hear from inside. “Lizzie,” he said, loud enough to be heard, “I know I can't answer all of your questions and anxieties for you. But I can answer one of them. I have a packet of information here which lists and describes all of the cybernetic parts of yours. I was waiting –”

The door opened, and a red-eyed Lizzie stood there, sniffing. “What were you waiting for, Red?” she snapped.

“I was going to talk it through with you, after you'd had the chance to rest from your ordeal yesterday,” he said calmly. “This is a technical document, and some of the language is more blunt and a good deal less personal than what I would use with you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I could use some bluntness,” said Lizzie, holding out one hand and using the other to wipe her face.

Inwardly, he winced. He doubted she knew what she was asking for, and yet for him to insist on this point would be to once again assert control over her. Especially with the coming confrontation over Tom, he couldn't alienate her further. “Then I'll be out in the main room, if you want to discuss anything with me.” He handed her the folder.

She met his eyes for a second and nodded, then closed the door.

Instead of waiting in agonized suspense for Lizzie's reaction to this information, Red used the time to accomplish some errands. First, he had someone go to her motel to pick up some of her clothes and toiletries. Even if she was only going to be here a day or two, he knew she would likely be more comfortable if she had some of her own things. Then he followed up again on the phone trace. Learning earlier that the call had come from the pier had been unexpected, and he was even more sure that this would turn out to have something to do with Tom.

The men he had set to watch the old boat reported that no movement had yet been seen at the site. Red wasn't ready to send them in yet. He would prefer to speak with Lizzie, first, for one thing. He had no desire to hold whatever intel he gained over her head while she was still struggling to keep that head above water. He would do what it took to keep her safe, yes. But the chances were that if he was too quick to send in his people now, anyway, they couldn't be sure everyone involved was taken down, and if by acting he infuriated Lizzie, she might not fill in the blanks.

Lizzie's things had been dropped off by the time she came out of her room again. She walked right past the bag at her door, and sat down across from him. Then she took a deep breath. “Thank you. For giving me the information I needed. I still haven't forgiven you – or Sam – for waiting this long, but I'm glad I know.”

Red nodded. “You have questions.”

“You were right that it's technical,” she said, putting the folder on the coffee table between them. “I may have missed some details, I guess. But I'm pretty sure I got the part where there's a chip in my head.” She shivered. “I – I see why having something that monitors all the other stuff in me is a good idea. Or at least I sort of do. I'm trying to. But that's not all it does, is it?”

“What is your question, Lizzie?” If she was heading where he thought she was, he wished he had a drink to fortify himself. Even though it wasn't even noon yet.

“Here,” she said, flipping through the pages until she found the right one. “Here, it says, it says something about – yeah, there: 'monitoring and control of the patient'. Red, that chip is attached to my brain. What, exactly, does it control?” She was very quiet, but it was a deadly calm.

There it was. “In order for them to be maintained or replaced, you would agree, I'm sure, that your cybernetics have to be able to be shut off.”

She swallowed. “Oh. Yes.” Her arms were crossed over her chest again. He wondered if she was even aware of the protective gesture.

“The chip is the only safe way to do that,” Red told her.

“Is that all?” she said, after a moment.

Of course she would keep pressing for answers. It was totally understandable that she needed to know this. But he wished she didn't. “Your circulatory system was the most heavily compromised by the results of the fire,” Red said. “That means a great deal of time has been spent on it over the years. You read about the ECMO that keeps you alive in the time when your heart and lungs are being worked on, or if either organ has to be entirely replaced?”

She nodded.

“The ECMO protects you against tissue damage from loss of oxygen. However, your other cybernetic organs aren't meant to work in tandem with it. In fact, in general, if one needs to be shut off, it's safest for none of them to be in use at the same time.”

Her eyes were wide again, and her breathing had sped up. “So, what? That doctor, he can – he can turn them all off at once? But my other body systems are mostly just me. It can't be good, for just random parts of them to suddenly not be working.”

“No, it wouldn't be good,” said Red, and he had to look away from her confused, frightened gaze. “That's why the chip allows Dr. Steiner to put your whole body into a kind of stasis, through its access to your brain stem.”

She gasped. When he looked up, both of her hands were over her mouth, and she was almost as pale as she'd been last night when she couldn't breathe. Her voice shook when she spoke. “You mean I have an 'off' switch?! Oh my God. Oh my God, I can't – this is insane! Get it out!” She reached a hand up to the back of her neck. “Please, Red, _get it out_!”

“I can't, Lizzie,” he said hoarsely. “It can't just be removed. It's in your brainstem. That could kill you.”

“Then make the doctor do it!” she cried. “I'll, I'll go do check-ups with him so we can check on my heart and lungs. But I can't, I can't do this.” She was sobbing again.

“Lizzie,” he said, coming around the table to put his arms around her. “Lizzie, Sam purposefully made the chip very hard to access. And only he and Dr. Steiner ever knew how to enter that command. Even I don't.”

She froze and pulled away from him, speaking with difficulty over her sobs. “That's... supposed to make me feel better? I'm supposed to... be all right with the fact that the computer... command that can, what, _paralyze_ me and... _make my body stop working_ is currently only available... to one person?”

“I'm sure it doesn't,” Red admitted. “Nor do I expect it will help much to hear that Sam agonized over putting in the chip at all. He went through every other option he could think of, first. He _hated_ to do this to you.” He didn't bother to add that he himself hated it, too. He knew it was inhumane and dehumanizing – to anyone, much less the person he cared about most in this world.

Lizzie glared at him, still crying, and still as far away from him on the couch as she could be. “Can you promise me that no one else has access to the chip?”

God, and there was the other question he was dreading. Silently, he stood and found his BioMonitor module, and then brought it out and handed it to her. “This was made for me by Sam, and has been updated a few times over the years by Dr. Steiner and his team.”

He watched her stare at it, reading the facts it reported, until comprehension dawned. Her jaw worked. She didn't make a move to give it back; in fact her fingers closed around it, and she met his eyes. “I'll keep this.”

Red didn't object. There was something much more important that he had to worry about. “It's only a monitor, Lizzie. No commands can be entered to the chip from this module.” She nodded. “But there is something else I should tell you. I had another one made. It was after you were grown, and had already left Sam's protection. You had been doing fine, physically. In fact, you were thriving. But Sam and I agreed that you would still need to be monitored.

“So I looked for an operative who could be a friend to you, and who could be trained on how to read your BioMonitor as well as what to do in case the readings dropped to dangerous levels. I found and hired a man who I thought was an ideal candidate. He was supposed to offer you support as well as be security for you. And all of this was meant to be from an arm's length.”

Lizzie shook her head. Her eyes were pleading. “Red, no. Don't. Don't tell me this.”

“Lizzie, he was never meant to get close. And when I found out that he had – that you and he were in a relationship – I fired him.” Red sighed. “I should have removed him. I'm not exactly sure at what point he started working for Berlin.”

“You hired Tom?” Lizzie choked out. “And he knew – he knew about - ?” She looked down at herself. “Oh my God.” She stood and raced to the bathroom. Retching sounds were audible a minute later.

But she was already standing again, in the doorway of the bathroom, by the time he followed. “Now that I have this,” she said, voice ice-cold, holding out the BioMonitor, “I don't have to stay here. Don't worry, I know I have to call you if something happens,” she added bitterly. Then she took a deep breath. “But I'm leaving. I'll call a cab. I need at least the illusion that my life is in my own hands.” She pushed past him and picked up the bag of her things, slipping the module into it. “Just so you know, Red,” she said, eyes glittering with tears that did not fall, “the man you hired to enter my life? I think he... did things to me. Probably while I was asleep next to him in bed, because he was my husband and I trusted him.” Her lips trembled. “I guess there's literally no one that I have trusted who actually deserved it. Not Sam, not Tom, and certainly not you.”

Red felt each word like a bullet hitting his chest. He wanted to – needed to – defend himself, but he couldn't. Nor did he think he could bear to tell her that she was right about Tom.

“Tell me, Red,” she hissed, “did your scan show anything new since Tom came into my life? This thing you were using to spy on me seems to think I'm doing all right. Am I?”

At least he could give her that reassurance, though he couldn't meet her eyes and see the despair and hatred there. “There were...” He cleared his throat. “There were new pieces of equipment introduced into you. Dr. Steiner and his team removed them last night. They're still being analyzed, but your scan was normal after they were taken out.”

Lizzie made a wordless sound, like a wounded animal. She didn't speak, but turned quickly, opened the door, and left. He didn't know how long it was before he overcame his creeping, horrified numbness enough to even close the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~~

When she called the cab from a block away from Red's house, Liz had didn't actually know where she wanted to be taken. She had called in sick from work. And that wouldn't have been an option, anyway – how could she face her coworkers while even trying to pretend her whole life wasn't in ruins? So when the taxi showed up, she decided to simply ask to be taken back to where she'd left her car.

Then she drove back to her motel. At least she could get out of these clothes, get clean from where the men at Red's warehouse had put their hands on her. Right then it didn't matter that they had undoubtedly saved her life by doing so. She just needed to be clean.

She showered until the hot water ran cold, using three times as much shampoo and body wash as usual, and when she got out and started to dry herself off, she paused. Surely there had to be some outward sign of the unnatural changes that had been made to her insides. But when she stared at herself in the mirror and ran her fingers over the areas that information packet had informed her were affected, there was nothing to indicate anything unusual. Her skin over those areas felt the same as her skin everywhere else. Her heart still beat steadily, her breaths came regularly, and there was nothing at the back of her neck that felt odd.

Finally she realized she was cold, and faintly hungry. She finished drying off and put on a fresh set of clothes, not at all more settled. The shower, while otherwise refreshing, had done absolutely nothing to rid her of the crawling, nauseated feeling that came over her every time she thought about Tom and how it was Red's fault he was in her life. Yet physically, she did feel fine. And when she checked the BioMonitor, everything looked fine, too. She supposed that was something. She could have been dead.

Since she wasn't, she should probably eat something for lunch. As hard as it was to work up much of an appetite, Liz decided she could manage a Cup of Noodles made with the hotpot she had in her room. It was barely nutritious, she knew. But at least she was eating.

Once that was taken care of, though, she had no idea what to do with the next several hours. There was always the possibility of going to question Tom more, now that she had even more ammo with which to do so. But that idea was almost enough to send her running to the toilet again. No, she'd have to leave Tom for another time.

Suddenly, a thought struck her that was so horrible that she almost lost her lunch anyway. She took out her phone, then sighed. She didn't want to actually speak to Red, but she did have to know. So instead of using her phone, she left the motel and walked to the nearest pay phone. It wasn't close, but she took it slow and checked the BioMonitor to make sure she wasn't overdoing it. When she dialed and Dembe answered, Liz cut in right away to say, “I need to know what happened to the BioMonitor he gave to Tom. I don't want to talk to him. Just tell him to message me.” Then she hung up before Dembe could get in more than part of a syllable of his response.

She stood outside the phone booth for a minute. Thankfully, that was all it took for her phone to chime. The message read, 'My people found it in your apartment after Tom left. It's safe.'

Liz sighed. Of course, that meant Red still had one. But even with how angry she was at him, she would readily admit to herself that it was a lot better for him to have it than for it to have fallen into the hands of some random passerby, or, far worse, Berlin. 'Understood,' was her reply.

More tired from the walk than she had expected, Liz sat down on the curb and put her head in her hands. She felt numb. There had simply been too much turmoil in the past day. She couldn't absorb it all. If it hadn't been for the fact that it was just past 1:30 in the afternoon, she would have wanted to buy something alcoholic and drink it instead of thinking about anything.

Instead, though, after a few minutes of rest, she stood again and looked at the BioMonitor. Apparently she was still doing all right. And she could already tell that checking the little device could become a habit – or even an obsession, if she wasn't careful. Sighing again, she slipped it into her bag and turned toward the motel.

Somehow she passed the time until late afternoon. During that period, she did eventually gather up the mental strength to call and check in with the man she had guarding Tom, at least. He told her he'd tried to call her last night because he thought he'd noticed someone tailing him. But there had been no further developments on his end since then.

By the time it was just past four o'clock, Liz was ready to start climbing the walls. And being by herself without much to do hadn't helped her feel less like she was trapped in some kind of alternate reality. (Definitely a dystopia, she mused to herself darkly.) Yet it had occurred to her more than once during the day that her furious words to Red about having no one to trust were not quite true.

So she decided she'd waited long enough. Before she could change her mind, she took out her phone and called her partner.

“Hey, Keen, what's up? I thought you were sick,” came his voice.

She was surprised at how comforting it was to hear him. She could almost pretend it was a normal day – or at least what passed for one at the Post Office. “Yeah, I was. Not contagious, though, I promise. Look, I know the work day isn't really over, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure,” said Ressler. “Let me just close the door.” A second later, she heard him exhale. “Okay, go ahead.”

“You busy tonight? Because I've had a hell of a twenty-four hours, and I was planning to order something unhealthy for dinner and pair it with something alcoholic. And, uh, I know that sounds really pathetic, but –”

“I'm sure you won't believe me when I tell you this about a popular, outgoing kind of guy like me, Keen, but that actually sounds a lot like what I was planning for tonight,” said Ressler, and she could hear his smile. “How about you bring the alcohol, and I'll order the food? Say, my place around six-thirty?”

“Perfect,” said Liz. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. You sure you're doing all right? You hardly ever call in sick,” said Ressler.

Liz had to blink back tears suddenly, but she made sure her voice was steady before she replied. “I'm fine.” Which was true in terms of her physical health, anyway.

“You're fine.” He didn't sound convinced. “Well, you can tell me about it tonight, then.”

“Okay,” said Liz, although she had no idea how much she could begin to share. In some ways, it was safer for him if she kept him out of all this latest insanity with Red, and with her past. But on the other hand, she felt so desperately alone in it all. And Don Ressler had never kept secrets from her, or manipulated her.

“All right. I'll see you tonight, Liz,” he was saying.

“Sounds good. See you then,” she said, and hung up. The only problem with her dinner plans was that there were still hours until it was time. She guessed she could spend some of it pondering just what she did want to tell her partner. The fact that he at least already had an extremely low opinion of her ex-husband was vaguely encouraging. She thought she might start there.

By the six o'clock, Liz had already selected and bought a likely-looking six pack of beer. She knew if she left for Ressler's apartment now she'd be early. But she was going to go crazy if she went back to her motel and sat around some more.

So, at six-fifteen, Liz knocked on his door. “Hi,” she said when he'd opened it. “I know I'm early. Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” said Ressler, ushering her inside. “Pizza's not here yet, but it should just be a few minutes.”

“Good.” She handed him the beer, which he joked that he'd go “decant”, by which he meant he'd keep it in the fridge until they drank it. Then she sat down on his couch. Now that she was here, though she was genuinely glad to see him, part of her also wanted to flee back to her motel. Could she really tell him any of this? He was so... Well, it just didn't seem to fit into his world at all.

“Hey, Liz, you look like you're afraid I'm going to tell you to leave, or something,” said Ressler, coming in to sit by her. He frowned. “Don't tell me you're fine. What's the matter?”

She swallowed. “What isn't?” She tried to sound light, but her voice wavered, instead. God, no, she wasn't going to cry. Not before they'd even eaten anything. She took a deep breath and ran her hands over her face. “Can we wait a minute before I tell you? I just want to think about something else, anything else, for a little while.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “There's a movie on Netflix I've been meaning to watch, but I don't know if it's something you'd be interested in.”

Upon hearing that it was a sports movie, Liz raised an eyebrow. “You remember that I'm the only child of a single father, right? Yes, I'll watch your sports movie with you, Ressler – willingly, and without complaint.”

He grinned, and started it. The pizza came a minute later, and they ate, watched, and drank in companionable silence for some time after that. Liz tried to focus on the movie, and mostly succeeded. She felt more relaxed than she had in quite some time, though that feeling tended to be threatened every time she thought ahead to actually telling him what was wrong.

Still, when the movie was over, the idea of telling him seemed less scary. Maybe it was the two beers she'd had with her pizza. But whatever the reason, when Ressler sat back down after taking away their plates and empty bottles, she didn't wait for him to prompt her. “Red came to see me last night.” She bit her lip. “He had a lot to say, and I'm not ready to talk about most of it.”

“Okay.” Ressler sounded uncertain.

“You know he killed my father, right?” she asked, the words still bringing a bitter taste to her mouth. “Well, now it turns out I didn't even know my dad as well as I thought I did. He and Reddington both kept secrets from me.”

Ressler's eyebrows rose. “Both? As in, together?”

Liz nodded. “And if you're going to ask how they knew each other in the first place, you'd have to ask him. Because apparently I'm not allowed to know that.”

He scoffed. “Right. It's not like that would be important to you, or anything.”

Liz quirked her lips in acknowledgement. “Anyway, my dad was evidently not just a mechanic. He was Gifted.”

“And he never told you?” Ressler asked, sympathetic.

“He didn't. But I had kind of guessed. So it wouldn't bother me so much that he never said anything about it, if he hadn't also neglected to tell me that he was using his Gift to do unregulated medical research,” said Liz.

“Medical research?” Now her partner looked as confused as she had been.

“Yeah.” She decided she couldn't bear to go into much more detail. “I don't know a lot about it. Obviously. But all of that still wouldn't have been so bad, except for what else Red decided to share with me.”

He searched her face. “You know what? I think this calls for another beer.”

“I won't be driving home if I have anything more to drink,” Liz said, but it wasn't really a protest.

“We'll worry about that later,” said Ressler. “Or not. I don't mind if you stay. Do you want another one?”

She admitted that she did, and he went and got them each another, finishing off the six pack. She took a sip. She didn't want to get too drunk, or she might end up spilling more than she'd intended. But the numbing, relaxing effect was nice. “So, yeah. Red also told me that I was involved in that research, as a little girl. And that because of it – and who knows what else that he refuses to talk about – he thought I needed protection. So he hired Tom to be, what was it that he said? 'Support' or some bullshit like that.”

“ _What_?” Ressler sounded furious.

Liz set down the bottle and clasped her hands together. “You can imagine how comforting I found it that he was supposedly fired when Reddington found out he and I were in a relationship.”

“Holy shit, Liz!” Ressler ran a hand through his hair, dumbfounded. “And you kept talking to him after he told you this?”

“No, the conversation ended there, pretty much,” Liz replied, taking another drink. “I probably would have attacked him if I'd stuck around any longer.” And he probably would have let her, she added to herself. He was the most infuriating, bewildering, intolerable bastard. It wasn't until she saw Ressler nod emphatically and toss back a swallow of his own beer that she realized she had spoken at least part of that last bit out loud.

“No wonder you stayed home today,” said Ressler, shaking his head.

“I really was sick,” she insisted. Then she sighed. “But yeah, I probably would have, anyway. It's not like I'll be able to stand working with Reddington the next time he shows up with another name for us.”

“I don't blame you,” said Ressler. “Hell, I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd quit after you found out what he did to your dad.”

“I almost did,” said Liz.

“Why didn't you?” he asked, then winced. “You don't have to tell me that. Sorry.”

He sounded like he might be starting to feel the alcohol, too. She snorted. “I know, but I don't mind that you asked.” She didn't. Not really. She'd asked herself that question so many times, especially since last night. “He's got me right where he wants me, I guess. He can keep telling me just a little bit about my past every once in a while and he knows I'll hang on to his every word.”

Ressler sighed. “Manipulative son of a bitch.”

Liz nodded, and drank some more. “Plus, now that I know he's the only one who knows how to –” She stopped herself. She had been about to say he was the only one who knew how to save her the next time her organs decided to stop working. Her jaw clenched. But she wasn't going to unload everything tonight. “Never mind.”

“Knows how to what?” He was frowning at her in confusion.

“I – I can't, Ressler,” she said, staring down in her lap. That hadn't been what she wanted to say, either. She'd wanted to say it was nothing. “I think I've had enough of this.” She put the bottle on the coffee table.

He was silent for a minute. “It's none of my business, Liz,” he said, meeting her eyes, “but you don't need him. And maybe I've made it sound like the task force is a really big deal before, but it's not more important than you, either. I mean, you don't need to – to let it, let Reddington drag you down.” He sighed. “Did that make any sense? I feel like I was rambling.”

She smiled, blinking back tears. “A little. Thanks, Ressler.” He might technically be wrong about her needing Reddington at this moment, but he had a point: she could and should try to change that. It wouldn't be easy, but if Reddington really did care about her as much as he acted like he did sometimes, he'd have to be willing to hear her out. As soon as she was willing to talk to him again. And that was a good reason to figure out a plan of attack for that eventuality.

But not right now. Now she felt drowsy, and tipsy, and sleep sounded like a good idea. “You said I could stay? Because I don't think I want you driving me anywhere, either.”

Ressler shook his head. “No, I'm not driving. I could call you a cab, but I wouldn't want you to fall asleep on the way, either. I know it's paranoid, and you can handle yourself, but I still don't like that idea.”

Normally, Liz might have objected to his overprotectiveness, but since she had no desire to fall asleep in a stranger's vehicle – since she really didn't know if she could sleep where she'd be alone, either – she just nodded. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome. I may even have a spare toothbrush you can use.”

He insisted she take the bed, and she was too tired to argue. She fell asleep immediately, and slept hard for several hours. But at some point, she started to dream. And this time, with the confirmation of what Tom had done to her, the images of him weren't vaguely threatening. They were absolutely terrifying. Again, she found herself unable to move or react outwardly, and she didn't feel anything specific, but she just knew that he was going to or had already started to access the panel of skin at the back of her neck. And if he could access the chip –

Suddenly she could move. She could feel someone touching her, saying something to her. Jerking upright with a cry, she felt her fist connect with whoever and whatever was touching her. He yelled. With a jolt, Liz came completely awake and realized that wasn't Tom's voice. It wasn't Red, either. It was – “Oh my God. Ressler?”

“Jesus, Keen, that's going to leave a hell of a bruise.” There was a rustling sound, and then he said, “I'm going to turn on the light.”

She squinted in the sudden brightness, still breathing heavily from her dream. Ressler was standing next to the bed, holding one hand to his jaw. “I'm sorry, Ressler! God, I invite myself over to your house and kick you out of your room, and then I freak out and sock you in the face? And I woke you up before this, too, didn't I?”

“Yeah, you're the worst,” he grunted. “Seriously, though, you sounded – I'm a hard sleeper, and I could hear you from out on the couch. That must have been some nightmare.”

Liz shuddered. “Yeah. You should go put some ice on that, or you're going to be pretty swollen in the morning.”

“I was planning to,” said Ressler. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine! I'm not the one who just got hit by his partner,” she said, swallowing. Her head felt fuzzy, and she could tell it would hurt in the morning. “Did I mention I'm really sorry?”

“I'm not mad, Keen,” he said. “Though I'll have to think of a good story to explain the bruise tomorrow.”

She winced. “Hopefully nobody sees the bruises I'm going to have on my knuckles and connects the dots. Not that I'm trying to compare injuries or anything.”

Eventually, she got a drink of water, Ressler got an ice pack for his face, and they both settled back down for the rest of the night. Or at least, it seemed like he had been able to go back to sleep. But Liz had no such luck. She lay there in the dark, any pleasant, relaxed feeling from the evening completely gone. Every time she closed her eyes, the sensations from her dream returned full force.

She knew it was irrational, but she was pretty sure that, even without the fear of falling back into that dream, she would be afraid to sleep. Ressler, obviously, wasn't going to do anything to her – except try to wake her up when she was distressed and get punched for his troubles. But who knew how many times in her life she had slept and had God knows what done without her knowledge or consent? At least if she stayed awake, that couldn't happen again.

But she was tired, and that was a stupid idea for a 'solution' to this problem. She knew that. She had to stop thinking like this. It was just making things worse. Groaning, she sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. The fingers on her right hand hurt as she did so. Then she got up and turned on the bedside lamp. Ressler had a book sitting there. It was a spy thriller, and she wasn't actually interested, but anything was better than obsessing and fretting.

Leaving his bookmark where it was, Liz leaned against the headboard and started to read. It held her attention well enough that she at least could focus on the story instead of her own problems. And at some point, she must have actually fallen asleep again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning - this is probably the darkest section of this story, and may be triggering for mentions of non-con.
> 
> Also, this story shuffles around some of the timeline for S2, especially at the beginning.

~~~~~~

Somehow Liz made it through the next little while, trying to adjust to what her life was now. It helped to have Ressler as an ally in it, even though he didn't know the whole story. Still, it was good to be able to trust someone – especially once another agent was added to their task force. She didn't know what to think of Samar Navabi, but it couldn't have been more obvious that Reddington had something planned for the Mossad agent.

Yet despite her anger, Liz didn't stop the task force from working Blacklist cases. She knew these kinds of targets were more important than her own pain. That didn't mean it was easy to interact with Reddington, or to keep everything else in her life balanced. In fact, she had the feeling something would have to give soon.

And it did. She hadn't been able to bring herself to visit Tom hardly at all since learning the extent of his betrayal. Knowing how he had taken advantage of her had killed any irrationally lingering feelings she might have had for him. Also, if having him as her prisoner was about reasserting control, it was difficult to get into that kind of mindset when all she could think of was her nightmares of what he had done to her. She did interrogate him a few more times, but without much result.

The consequence of her neglect became all too clear one afternoon. She got a call from the guard she had on Tom, letting her know that there had been an incident – someone almost discovering their setup. Somehow, before she had gotten herself down there, the situation became even worse. Just as she was approaching the pier, having lied to her coworkers to say that she was meeting Reddington, her phone rang again.

It really was Reddington this time. “Lizzie, I have news that I think will be of interest to you. It concerns Tom Keen, and a man named Samuel Aleko.”

Her blood went cold. “What?”

“It seems your guard wasn't careful enough. Tom has escaped from where you were holding him.”

A roaring in her ears prevented her from hearing whatever Red said after that. Escaped. Her whole plan (such as it was), ruined before she'd even gotten much of use out of the man who had been her husband. And what was more, now he was free to do who knew what. Nothing good, that was certain.

“Lizzie!”

Finally, she realized Reddington must have been calling her name for several seconds now. “What?” she said again, blankly.

“Where are you right now?”

“At the pier,” she said, since there was no reason not to tell him now.

“Good. Meet me on the boat,” was his answer. “We need to discuss this.”

Though she resented having to answer his summons, she couldn't think of a way to get out of it, at this point. So, still chilled, she joined him on the boat. He and an injured Aleko were waiting. “What the hell happened?” Liz demanded, taking refuge in anger.

“That guy, Ames, the harbormaster, he came back,” said Aleko. “He must have gotten here while I was getting some food. By the time I came back, he'd already found Tom. I thought for a minute Tom was going to attack the guy. So I was all ready to stop him, but by then he'd gotten the guy's gun. He made me let him go, and he knocked Ames out and attacked me, and then he ran off.”

“Where's –?” Liz started to say, looking around.

“Mr. Kaplan is seeing to Mr. Ames,” said Red. “I'll see if I can find some motivation for the man not to make a fuss about all this. Not through any violent means,” he added as Liz opened her mouth to protest.

“But Tom...” Liz trailed off, the fear in her throat threatening to choke her.

“We'll find him,” said Red decisively.

But they didn't. Not right away, and not even after Liz confessed to Ressler, haltingly, that her ex was still alive and out there somewhere. She didn't tell him the whole story of Tom's captivity, either, though she did have to admit that she knew he'd been alive all this time. And even with Red's help making it so that the harbormaster issue didn't blow up in her face, the stress of both Tom and Berlin still being out there was awful.

Having her ex-husband call her out of the blue one evening was the last thing she expected. “What do you want, Tom?” she asked, in a brittle voice that she knew would break at any increased pressure.

“I have information about a contact for Berlin,” he said. There was a short pause. “Look, Liz, I know you had the chance to kill me, but you didn't. You didn't even turn me in. I want this whole thing with Berlin to be over, too. So I have an address. It's not far. Come alone – don't tell the FBI or your buddy Reddington – and let's fix this.”

“Why should I trust you?” she said.

“Because I didn't tell the harbormaster about you. I didn't even kill him, or your guard. You know I could have. I don't blame you for holding me captive,” he said.

This was insane. Liz ran a hand over her face. “All that may be true, but I still know what you did to me. What if I just decide I enjoy never seeing you again?”

There was another pause. “You could do that. I wouldn't blame you for that decision, either.”

Liz clenched her jaw. He sounded like he thought he was being very reasonable. What was missing, of course, was any kind of genuine apology. Not that she would accept it, anyway. She decided she needed to focus on what she might actually be able to get out of this. Both a real lead on Berlin and the knowledge that Tom would never bother her again would be excellent. “Fine, give me the address.”

“And you'll come alone?”

“What, do you need me to swear an oath, or something?” she snapped.

Once he had told her the place, and urged her to come in the next hour, Liz wrote it down. Then she hung up and sat down on her bed. There was no way she could trust this man. His reasons to encourage that trust were not remotely helpful. She could call Reddington. He would no doubt provide backup.

On the other hand, Ressler was still annoyed with her for keeping the truth about Tom from him, from the FBI, in the first place. She wanted to show him that she was trying to keep this from getting out of hand. And she still didn't want to rely on Reddington.

So she dialed her partner. “Hi, Ressler. Uh, I just got a call from – from Tom.”

“He called you?” came her partner's disbelieving response.

“Yeah, he claims he has some information about a way to track down Berlin,” she said, biting her lip.

“And why would he want to share that with you?”

“I don't know,” she said. “He wants me to come to the address he gave, sometime in the next hour – alone.”

“We should send in a team,” said Ressler.

“Ressler, this is a guy who was able to fool our whole task force into believing he was an innocent school teacher,” said Liz, running a hand through her hair. “You don't think he'll be able to tell if we bring a team? I don't want to lose what may be our only chance of catching him.”

“Then what, Keen? Why didn't you just call Reddington, if you don't want to do this by the book?” Now he was irritated with her.

“I don't want his help,” she said. “It's his fault I'm – we're in this mess.” She sighed. “Look, I'm not actually trying to keep the FBI out of this. If he's really there, and he really has information, we should call in a team. I just want to make sure he doesn't disappear first.”

She heard Ressler breath a sigh of his own. “Fine. Give me the address, and I'll meet you there. And I know I don't need to say this, but please don't go in to meet him until I get there.”

She passed on the information, and then grabbed her service weapon to head out. Maybe at least one part of her insanely stressful life could be closed out tonight. That would be something.

Reaching the parking lot of the old school earlier than she'd expected proved to be a problem. Ressler wasn't there yet. Before she could decide what to do, her phone rang. “Come around back, Liz,” said Tom, as soon as she'd answered. “You're making the right choice.”

Then he hung up. Liz put her phone down into her lap. He obviously knew she was here. There was no good reason for her to hang around in her car, from his perspective. Yet she couldn't just go blind into this situation without even her partner. She had to at least... She picked up her phone again and composed a text. 'Tom knows I'm here. I can't wait. I'm going around back. If you haven't heard from me in ten minutes from this text, come in after me.' That done, she slid her phone into her pocket and got out of her car. Hopefully she wasn't making a huge mistake, but at this point she felt stuck.

Her gun out and at her side, Liz walked around the side of the building. “Tom?” she called out.

“Back here,” he called back, close.

Just as she turned the corner, she heard another sound. And before she even got a look at the other man who was there, Tom stepped forward. “Great. Now, let's take a look at the merchandise,” he said, and then there was a sharp pain as he brought his arm to hers. A needle. He'd stuck a needle into her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she tried to yell, as she felt numbness beginning to spread from the injection site. Panicking, she did her best to swing her gun at him, but he ripped it from her grasp.

“We're not hurting you, Liz,” Tom said, with an expression she couldn't read on his face. When she made to attack again, he frowned. “I didn't want to, anyway.” And then, as the other man grabbed her arms from behind, her ex brought the gun down on her head and she blacked out.

~~

There was something wrong. There was definitely something wrong. She had to have been inside the building for at least twenty minutes, and when she texted, she had told him to come find her if she didn't text again in ten minutes. That had been about ten minutes ago. It wasn't that large of a building.

Ressler sighed and got out of the car. He should really call for backup right now. But Liz had trusted him with the information about what had happened with her bastard ex-husband, she had come to his apartment after her latest shocking revelation, and she had called him now before she had called anyone else. He owed it to her as his partner and his friend to see if the situation could be salvaged, at least.

After his call went to voicemail one more time, Ressler readied his weapon, went to the side entrance, and opened the door. He cleared the first floor, and went upstairs. Just as he was about to push open the door at the top of the stairs, he heard voices. He froze and pressed himself against the wall. There were two men walking past, and if the glimpse he'd gotten hadn't been a trick of the poor lighting, one of them had been Tom Keen. Ressler hadn't been able to catch any of what the two had been saying, but gestures had made it clear that Tom was leading the other man toward the opposite end of the hall. Ressler waited until they wouldn't hear before he entered the hallway himself. There were two rooms nearby, one on each side of the hall, but they were locked. Plus, no lights were on inside. Ressler moved down the hall, checking each room as he came to and finding each one in a similar state. But as he got closer to the far end, he heard voices. Two male speakers, he thought. He was getting close.

Just then there was a faint sound behind him. Ressler spun around, his gun raised – but there was nothing to be seen. He turned and kept going.

One of the rooms at the end of the hall had light spilling out from its windows. Ressler approached slowly. As he drew almost even with the door, ducking around the window, Ressler thought he'd gotten a glimpse of what was going on in the room. What he saw made him want to charge in there, shooting first without even asking any questions. It had looked very much like the two men were standing over a woman lying on a table. He was terribly sure he had recognized the woman.

But he couldn't just go in shooting. There was every chance a stray bullet would hit his partner. He had to announce himself.

That decided, Ressler kicked open the door. “FBI!” he shouted. “Step away from her and put your hands where I can see them.”

The men had turned around as soon as he entered, and now they obeyed, hands raised. They were wearing surgical gloves, Ressler noted. That couldn't be good. The only small mercy was that there was no blood to be seen. But one of the men was smiling smugly as he looked back at the agent. Yeah, it was her ex-husband.

“Agent Ressler,” Tom said, glancing at the table behind him and then at his companion (who Ressler didn't recognize at all), “you don't want to see this. You should really just turn around and go.”

“I'm not going anywhere unless I have you both in custody with me,” snapped Ressler. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a zip tie. “Keen, or whatever your name is, put this on your friend.”

Tom caught the tie and took off his gloves before he did as he was ordered. Then Ressler approached with cuffs, commanding the other man to stand against the far wall. He was about to put the cuffs on Tom when his gaze slid over to the woman on the table. His jaw dropped, and a wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

It was Liz, as he had thought. But he never in his worst nightmares would have imagined seeing her like this. Her shirt was unbuttoned and open (which sent a flash of rage through him in and of itself), and then … it was like she'd undergone surgery. Or was in the process of it. Except there was no blood. That was the only way he could even begin to take in what he was seeing.

Just as he was whirling to face Tom again, words of outrage at the ready, the man in question used his distraction to launch himself at Ressler. In the ensuing struggle, the gun went flying – but Ressler at least had the satisfaction of punching the lying son of a bitch in the face hard enough to knock him backward. He'd been wanting to do that for a long time.

Before Ressler could take this opportunity, while Tom recovered, to go for his gun, a shot was fired from the doorway. It scored like fire along Ressler's left arm, making him stagger and barely keep from falling. He turned to see who this new factor was. The man who he'd ordered to get against the wall was in the process of hurrying out of the room – and the newly-arrived gunman was advancing on Ressler, gun still raised. Ressler dove to the ground, his fingers just barely touching the grip of his gun. But now Tom had rejoined the fray. He grabbed onto Ressler's leg, pulling him backward away from the weapon.

“Miller! Get away from him!” the gunman yelled. “I need a clean shot.”

 _Shit_. Ressler kicked at Tom, knocking away his hands but not connecting with anything more vital. Just as the man with the gun was about to raise the weapon, Ressler seized his own gun and fired it. He hadn't been able to afford to take the time to aim with any skill at all, but the gunman cried out and fell to the ground. He must not have missed too badly.

Tom swore and pulled away from the agent. Ressler tried to bring the gun to bear against him, but that would have meant rolling onto his left shoulder – which hurt like hell. Maybe the other guy hadn't just grazed him, after all.

But while he awkwardly regained his feet, it seemed Tom had decided he'd had enough. He was heading for the door. “Hey!” Ressler shouted, and fired again. This shot didn't even come close. Tom glanced over his shoulder and kept going.

Ressler leaned against the doorway when he reached it, firing off one more futile shot at Tom's retreating form, and then stumbled a little as he turned back into the room. He needed to pull himself together. Liz … Liz needed his help. He was honestly terrified, since he had very little idea how to help someone who was unconscious (God, he hoped she was unconscious) and lying there with her abdomen--- _open_ like that.

Blood was dripping profusely from his left arm, Ressler realized. He needed to do something about that, and it needed to happen before he tried to help his partner. Bleeding all over her would be the opposite of helpful. Shaking his head to try to clear it, Ressler looked around the room. There was a roll of paper towels next to the sink in the far corner. He tried not to stare in horrified fascination as he passed by Liz on the way. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell she was alive because he could see the edge of her heart underneath her ribs, and it was beating. Which was far from reassuring, on balance.

As quickly as he could, Ressler wrapped pretty much all of the roll of paper towels around his arm, covering both the entry and exit wounds. The pain, already extreme, increased – not that that was a surprise. At least he could move the arm without quite as much agony as it had caused to drag himself into the Box when that bullet had destroyed his leg. Still, he wished he had his pills on him. And now that he had thought about them...

Shaking his head again, with a swell of guilt at how he had allowed himself to be distracted for even a second by his habit, Ressler washed off the blood on his hands before he finally focused his attention on Liz.

It was still pretty much impossible to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Just as he had thought he'd seen before, there was no blood at the edge of the opening in Liz's abdomen. In fact, the edges looked disconcertingly, perfectly even and smooth. But the opening was large enough to see much of her insides. The opening didn't go much beyond the bottom edge of her ribcage, not that that changed how disturbing this was. His own stomach threatened to turn again. There was no way this was okay. And she wasn't moving, although he could still _see_ evidence that she was alive.

“God, Liz,” he whispered, looking at her face, “I-- I don't know what to do here. Damn it. I'm sorry.” He didn't have a healing Gift, or even any other kind of Gift that he could try to use here. And then he saw there was a sizable bruise on her forehead, too, as if she needed anything else on top of this horror. He looked around the room again. He had just used the only vaguely sterile, bandage-like material available – which he would feel worse about, except did she even need bandages? How could he even--?

Just then, his eyes were drawn back to her face as she made a faint sound. Her eyebrows drew down, and she frowned. “God,” he whispered again, as his heart started to pound. She was waking up. Could she feel this? It had to hurt, didn't it?

A moment later, her eyes opened. She didn't seem to see him at first. Then her eyes met his. She wasn't overly upset, just confused. But that didn't last long; he could see the moment she realized something was wrong. Her eyes started to dart all around, especially down toward herself – but evidently she couldn't move. Her head stayed flat against the table. She started to breathe faster, in little panicked gasps.

“Liz, you're okay,” Ressler said, and then winced. That was a patently ridiculous overstatement. Her wide-eyed gaze found his. “I mean, you're not in any danger from-- anyone. But I'm, I'm so sorry. I don't know how to help you. I don't know how to-- close you up.”

He wanted to personally rip that bastard Tom Keen's throat out as he watched her look even more terrified at his words. “I-- Should I call--” He stopped. Obviously this was not something a normal ambulance could handle. That was when it occurred to him: maybe this had something to do with the medical research Liz had mentioned her father having been involved in. And if that was the case--

A phone ringing made both of them flinch. It wasn't Ressler's, though; it was coming from the jacket discarded under Liz's table. Ressler bent down to retrieve it, grunting at the increased pain this caused his arm. His makeshift bandage was probably close to being soaked through already. But he pushed that concern aside and found the phone in Liz's pocket. “Nick's Pizza” was flashing across the screen.

“Liz?” Ressler asked, urgently enough that Liz stopped frantically looking around the room long enough to look at him again. “I have a hunch this isn't actually a pizza place calling you. Should I answer it? Can you, uh, blink or something?”

She blinked immediately. Taking that as a yes, Ressler answered the phone. “Donald Ressler.”

“Donald,” came Reddington's voice, “are you with Agent Keen?”

Ressler took a breath. He recalled what Liz had said and implied, that night when she had come over for dinner. “Yeah,” he said. “She's-- she's in trouble, and I don't know how to help her. Maybe from what she told me a while back, you do.”

There was a quick intake of breath on Reddington's end. “Describe the problem.”

“She must have been drugged or something, because she can't move,” Ressler said, turning his gaze back to his partner. “And...”

“And what, Agent Ressler?” His voice was sharp. “Tell me.”

“It's like... It's like someone cut her open, but there's no blood,” he finally said in a rush. Liz made a little, almost inaudible but agonized sound that hurt him to hear. He gripped the phone so tightly it was painful. Tom Keen was a dead man.

“I see,” said Reddington. He didn't sound overly surprised, though he did sound furious. “Is she lying on her front or her back?”

The question made him gulp. He couldn't consider the implications right now. “On her back. And...” He trailed off again, before lowering his voice and turning away. “Reddington, she's awake. She's conscious.” He swallowed again. “Can you tell me if she's in pain?”

After a pause, Reddington replied, “While I can't know for sure what was done to her to paralyze her, I can tell you that under, ah, more normal circumstances, what you have described would not be physically painful.”

That was a tiny, minuscule relief, though also hard to wrap his mind around. Ressler turned back to Liz. “Okay. So what do I do?”

The other man sighed. “I would tell you not to do anything until I get there, but unfortunately I'm still about ten minutes away,” he said. “First of all, is the scene secured? What happened?”

Ressler ground his teeth. He understood why Reddington needed to know this, but he just wanted to be able to help Liz – do something that would lessen the stark terror on her face. “She called me about a lead on Berlin, and told me to meet her at this place, this old school. Then she didn't answer her phone when I got there. I searched the building and found her – like this, with Tom and another man standing next to her.”

The FBI agent didn't think he was imagining the undercurrent of rage in Reddington's voice when he said, “Tom. All right. What next?”

“I went in, tried to take them into custody,” Ressler said. He shut his eyes for a moment, and put his left hand on the edge of the table. He'd felt dizzy there for a second, but that was quickly eclipsed by the jolt of pain he incurred by straightening his arm and putting any pressure on it. He grimaced. “There was a third man in the building. I don't know where he'd been hiding, since I thought I'd cleared it before I got to the room. He had a gun. Tom's associate, whatever, the other guy who seemed interested in Liz ran away as soon as the fighting started. I shot the guy with the gun. Didn't manage to kill Tom before he ran off, but he shouldn't be able to run as fast as he might want.”

“My people will check any nearby security footage, and see if we can track them down,” said Red. Then he paused again, just for a second. “Donald, are you all right? You sound more than usually tense, and not just emotionally so.”

“I'm fine,” he said. “Took a bullet to my left arm, but it's not too serious.” Even as he spoke, he was fumbling to remove his belt with his injured arm, to tie it off. But then he gave that up as wasted effort, put the phone on speaker, and set it down so he could use his right arm to do it. He'd have to leave the belt a little slack for now, if he wanted there to be any feeling left in his left hand.

“I doubt that, but I applaud your stoicism,” said the other man. Liz had been looking at him in increasing concern this whole time, and now she glanced as best she could toward where the phone was. “At any rate, if you're ready, I can talk you through what's necessary to close her up.” For the first time, he sounded uncertain as he added, “That is, if Lizzie is all right with that. It sounds like she's in no immediate danger, and I'll be there in eight minutes.”

Ressler finished tightening the belt around his upper arm as best as he could, then looked at Liz. “What do you think?” She blinked again, and he checked to be sure he had understood. “You want this to happen now?” Another single blink. “Okay. Uh, I guess she wants me to do it.” He cleared his throat. He hadn't yet had time to consider what this would mean. What he would have to do. Quickly, he rinsed his hands again and wiped them on the last remaining paper towel. The motion jarred his arm yet more, and he bit back a sound of pain.

“Very well.” Red proceeded to lead him through, step by step, what was required to close up the artificial skin, as he learned it was. It involved precise, gentle pressure in several exact spots around the edges of the opening. When he muttered that he should be wearing gloves, Reddington said, “A logical thought, and if they were available I'd agree, but assuming you've just washed your hands and you don't touch anything inside the opening, this poses only a vanishingly small risk to her immune system.”

Well, his hands might be cleaner if he didn't have his own injury, but the blood hadn't run down his arm that far yet, at least. With Red's guidance, and a quick apology to Liz, Ressler pressed down in the locations that Reddington described as best he could. At first nothing happened, but when he moved just slightly, the warm skin under his fingertips slid shut over her abdomen from both sides. There was still a faint line visible where the two met. Ressler mopped his forehead with his right arm. “Okay. Now what?” His voice sounded faint to his own ears.

“You'll need to press evenly and a little more firmly on both sides along the seam you can still see, from top to bottom,” said Reddington. “That should be sufficient.”

Ressler did as instructed. In another situation, he would have found it more difficult to concentrate on the goal of his actions than he did then. It wasn't as if he could totally ignore the fact that he was touching his partner's bare skin, while her shirt was open. But she was so distressed, and totally vulnerable, and he wasn't a monster, so Ressler channeled everything he was feeling into concentration on the task. Besides, the dizziness was getting worse by now, which meant he had to concentrate hard.

To his relief, the seam disappeared as he pressed along it. It was like there had never been anything there. “Okay,” he said, with a sigh. He took his hands away. “It-- it looks normal now.”

“Good,” said Reddington. His voice got softer. “How is she?”

Ressler straightened up enough to meet Liz's eyes again. To his dismay, there were tears pouring down her cheeks. She wasn't looking at him. “Not good,” he replied. He took a deep breath. He could save his anger at Reddington for his part in this for later. “How far are you?”

“Just about five minutes.” The man said something else, but as Ressler stood up the rest of the way, he heard a roaring in his ears and staggered, just barely catching himself on the table edge again with both hands. This time, the jarring that resulted was too much for him to hold back a cry. “Donald? What happened?”

Ressler gripped the table edge, breathing heavily. He hoped he hadn't jostled his partner too much just then. It was hard to see now; the world was going gray around him. Slowly, as carefully as possible, he lowered himself to the floor, facing the door. He'd wanted to re-button Liz's shirt for her, but maybe that wasn't going to happen. But he had to at least stay conscious until Red got here. He'd never forgive himself if he passed out and that piece of shit ex of Liz's came back to finish … doing whatever he'd been doing. He fumbled for a minute and pulled out his gun.

“Donald, are you still there?” It was Red's voice, from behind him on the table. Although it sounded much further away.

Ressler blinked. He should say something. “I'm not going to pass out,” he said, as loudly as he could. It didn't sound very loud. Not louder than the roaring in his ears, anyway.

There was probably a response to that, but Ressler couldn't make it out. He kept his eyes open with supreme effort. They slipped shut a few times, but each time he wrenched them back open. He couldn't see all that well, but still, open was better than not.

When a shape suddenly appeared, looming over him, Ressler flinched and tried to raise his gun. But there was a gentle hand on his shoulder – the shoulder that didn't hurt. It was... He knew who it was. He gave in to the blackness.

Some time later, Ressler opened his eyes in what he thought was a hospital room at first. Then he blinked a few times and frowned. It looked more like a bedroom, now that he thought about it, but full of the usual hospital equipment. The light was low, and the blinds on the window were shut.

“Hello, Donald,” said a familiar voice.

When he turned to his right, there was Reddington, sitting in the chair by his bed. The man looked infinitely weary, but the smile on his face was genuine.

Ressler swallowed. His throat was dry, but not post-intubation dry. “Where am I?” he said hoarsely.

“In a clinic of sorts,” Red replied. “Which is to say, a private facility staffed by a few highly skilled, trustworthy professionals.”

Ressler looked at his arm, then, as he remembered more. It was encased in a full cast, to just past his wrist. There was an IV line in the back of his other hand. But before he asked more about all of that, he had to ask, “Where's Liz? Is she all right?”

“She's here as well.” For a moment, grief and something else flashed across the man's face. “Physically, she's perfectly fine, but the trauma she endured...”

“What? What's wrong?” Trying to speak forcefully just made him cough, which awoke a dull, muffled pain in his arm. But it wasn't too bad. They must have him on the strong stuff, Ressler realized with both relief and dismay. He picked up the water cup on the table at his right hand, and drank.

Reddington waited until he was done before replying. “It seems Elizabeth has decided it's safer for her not to be present, mentally, right now. Our best guess is that she has withdrawn to a place where she feels she's not in danger.” Though he spoke in a normal tone of voice, the weariness on his face was even more pronounced.

Ressler stared. “My God.” When he thought about what it must have been like for her – finding this out about herself (not that he knew all of what 'this' was still), and then what Tom had just done to her... His stomach twisted. “What does that mean exactly – withdrawn?”

“It means she's just one step above catatonic,” was Reddington's blunt response. “She doesn't respond to speech or most other stimuli, although she reacts violently to touch. She has eaten once when food was put in front of her, and she's used the bathroom, but otherwise she just sits on her bed.”

“How long?” He meant both how long had he been here, and how long had Liz been like this. The picture Reddington had painted was about as bleak as he could imagine.

Reddington seemed to understand. He told Ressler that the agent had undergone minor surgery to clean out and close up the bullet wound in his left arm, and then received a blood transfusion. “I happen to have a decent supply of our blood type at my disposal, so it didn't need to come directly from me this time,” he said with a small smile. “Anyway, you've both been here for nearly twelve hours. And Elizabeth's … mental state became clear as soon as the paralytic wore off, which was about ten hours ago.”

Shutting his eyes, Ressler tried to breathe steadily. This was bad. This was worse than almost anything he could have feared when he arrived at that building. “And there's nothing your doctors can do to help?”

“Not unless matters grow even worse,” he said with a wince. “If she becomes completely catatonic, there are avenues they could pursue. Otherwise, it's up to her.”

It was all too easy to remember how panicked and helpless Liz had been, unable to move and lying on that table, more exposed than should be possible. It hurt to think about it. And he could hardly blame her for deciding not to deal with any of it right now. It was also very easy to remember the man who had caused her latest trauma, too. “Did your people find any signs of Tom?”

“Yes. That is the one piece of good news out of the immediate aftermath of this disaster,” Reddington said. “He's in custody, as well as the man whom you shot. Though that man is still in a coma.”

Ressler nodded, leaning back in relief. The relief was short-lived, though. A second later he glared at Reddington. “She told me you hired Tom,” he said through nearly clenched teeth. If he weren't lying in a hospital bed right now, Ressler knew he would be sorely tempted to grab the criminal by his collar and shove him against the wall. “Which makes this, that she's dealing with right now, your--”

“Donald, you don't have to tell me that this is my fault,” he interjected, low and tense. “I know it is. I know that if I spend every waking minute of my life from now on trying to atone for what I've done to her, it won't be enough.”

That much candor from Red was surprising enough that it put a halt to Ressler's anger. He believed that Red believed every word he had just spoken. So he just nodded.

A moment later, Reddington changed the subject. “I should inform you, by the way, that the bullet that went through your upper arm also nicked the bone, causing a hairline fracture,” he said, gesturing to Ressler's left arm, “which is why it's in a cast. Dr. Tyson tells me it should take three to four weeks to heal fully, but that you should suffer very little in the way of long-term effects.”

“Okay.” None of that sounded unexpected.

“I imagine, should you want to,” Red continued, “you could get up and move around a bit in just a few minutes. The doctor will be in to check on you first.”

As the man stood up and put on his hat, Ressler took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. There were lots more questions he wanted to ask before he was left alone, chief among them questions about how what he had witnessed about Liz was possible. But it was clear Red wasn't planning to stick around for the moment. He tried to gather his thoughts. “Reddington.”

Turning, Reddington regarded him patiently. “Yes, Donald?”

“Thank you.” Ressler licked his dry lips. “For this. Saving my life, again.”

Reddington smiled. “As I said last time, my friend, it's what you do when someone is dying in front of you.” Then he looked serious once more. “Besides, it's thanks to you that Elizabeth was spared from whatever her ex-husband had as an end goal for her. And your foolish but noble attempt to stand guard for your partner until I arrived also didn't go unnoticed.”

He snorted softly at that. It probably had been foolish. As far as he could recall, he'd been so out of it that if he had tried to shoot an intruder, it wouldn't have gone well. That idea might not have been effective, but now that he and Liz were both in the same facility, both recovering (he hoped she was recovering, anyway), he would stay with her here, too. He could do at least that much for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to Namarie, who wrote most of Ressler's POV for this section!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short hop back in time, to get some other people's perspectives.

~~

Red found it much more difficult than usual to allow Dembe to enter the room first. But the man only took a few seconds to announce that the room was clear. “Agent Ressler is in bad shape,” he reported, “but still alive.”

Red came into the room in time to see Dembe crouch down in front of the FBI agent, who had evidently propped himself up against the leg of the table where Lizzie lay, toward the end of his phone call with Red. Donald's eyes were open, and his gun was in his right hand, which was in his lap. When Dembe bent down in front of him, Donald flinched and tried to raise his weapon.

“It's all right, Agent Ressler,” said Dembe soothingly. “Neither you nor Elizabeth are in danger now.”

A moment later, Ressler sighed and shut his eyes. Dembe was already getting to his feet and calling in the medical team that was on standby outside the school building.

It looked like Donald would be all right until the medical team got inside. Red went to Lizzie's side, barely restraining a cry of rage at the sight of her lying there motionless, with her shirt unbuttoned and open. Quickly, he fastened her shirt closed again, as he said, “I'm here now, Lizzie. You're going to be all right.”

But she didn't reply, or even open her eyes to show she'd heard. Red frowned. From what Donald had said, she was aware enough and able to move enough that she could respond with tiny gestures. “Lizzie, can you hear me?”

Again, there was no visible response. But he could see that she was breathing. Perhaps she had passed out. It was highly unlikely she would have fallen asleep in such a stressful situation. At any rate, both she and Donald required medical attention, and he would see that they got it.

Still, after his people had transported the two agents to his private clinic, Red began to think this might not have been quite as disastrous as he had feared. His anxiety had been great, once he knew the situation involved Tom and that Lizzie hadn't even called him. After all, his men even tracked down the man and one of his associates – both of whom were very likely to have actual useful intel on Berlin. Most importantly, Lizzie hadn't been kidnapped or physically hurt. Donald had arrived in time to prevent that. He'd done that admirably, and without endangering himself too much in the process. If there was one thing to be said for Donald Ressler, it was that when he knew what needed to be done, he stuck to it as long as he could.

But now, as Lizzie lay, still quiet, in her room at the clinic, Red worried. According to what the doctor had said, the paralytic she had been given should have worn off about a half hour ago. Yet she had not moved since she had been carefully placed on the bed. It didn't even look like she was dreaming, as she slept on.

With a sigh, Red stood from where he had been sitting in the room's chair, and turned to leave. A faint sound stopped him. “Lizzie?” He turned to face her. Her eyes were open. “Lizzie, how are you feeling?” He went to her bedside.

She didn't answer. In fact, her eyes only moved fractionally toward him. And there was no recognition there.

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to have dropped. Red tried again. “Lizzie? Can you hear me?”

She blinked, but her eyes still didn't meet his.

This was not good. This... He hoped very much that this was not the worst case scenario, but he was afraid that it was. “Lizzie. Please. You're safe now. Can you look at me?” When there was still no sign that she had heard, he took a sharp breath and then let it out slowly. Then, stretching out his hand (which was now trembling), he made to touch her arm.

That got a response. Lizzie gasped in a breath, jerked away from him, and made a sound of protest. Her breathing stayed fast even when he withdrew his hand. Yet she still hadn't looked at him – not really.

Red let his hand fall to his side, and then clenched both of them. Dear God. Perhaps the situation could be worse, but it could hardly be less painful. Gasping in his own breath, he managed to make it back to the chair before almost collapsing into it. This was exactly what he had hoped to spare her from. Though he didn't know all the details of what had transpired at the hands of Tom Keen, it was all too clear that it had been too much for her mind to take. And now she... She just wasn't there anymore.

He gave himself a full minute to absorb the horror of that fact. When he glanced back up, her empty gaze was still all he could see. No, now he noticed that her face wasn't expressionless. It was almost to that point. But he knew her expressions and emotions well, and he could see the ghost of fear there. Somehow, that only made it even more devastating.

“Oh, Lizzie,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I'm sorry.” Then, heart aching, he stood and wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and when to find the doctor. He had failed to protect her from this, but he could at least ensure that she received the best possible treatment.

That was going to be a hard goal to accomplish, however. Dr. Mendez's prognosis for Lizzie wasn't particularly promising, though Red supposed it wasn't dire either. The man attempted to run several stimulus response tests, but the response he got every time from Lizzie to attempted touch was fear and retreat – or, when it came to the third and fourth attempts, fear, anger, and fighting back.

Dr. Mendez had gotten the picture readily enough that he avoided injury. “Well, she's obviously not catatonic,” he observed, with a faint quirk of the lips. “But she is dissociating fairly severely. Touch seems to be the only stimulus she responds to, although I'll continue to observe her, of course. I'd say this is her mind's way of protecting itself from the trauma she has experienced.”

Red nodded. “And how do we get her better?”

The doctor sighed. “There's very little that can be done for her, I'm afraid. Any avenue I could suggest would be for patients who are truly catatonic. But as she is now... I recommend you keep her comfortable, and establish a routine of care. Predictability and safety may help. Other than that, we will just have to hope that she'll come out of it on her own.”

This was not what Red wanted to hear. He wanted to be able to _do something_ , to cause this to be less horrible. But he could, and did, see to it that Lizzie had someone to bring her food at regular intervals. And he also did his best to have someone either in the room with her or very nearby while she was awake. He would have taken it all upon himself, but there were interrogations to be dealt with – her ex-husband chief on that list, of course. At least he had a reasonable hope that Donald would volunteer to be part of this rotation, as soon as the man was recovered enough to leave his own bed.

~~~~~~

If Liz had thought the night she found out about all of this had been horrible, the situation she found herself in at the school made her realize just how much worse things could get. She tried to tell herself that it was good that Ressler's first instinct had just been to help her. He hadn't freaked out. And no matter what Reddington was guilty of in regards to her, he had evidently jumped immediately to making sure Ressler could help her, too. It was good, of course, that with her partner's help she was no longer forced to half-see her own insides.

But after that she had spent several minutes alone, lying paralyzed on her back, once her partner had passed out (she guessed) and before Red arrived. And that had been plenty of time to totally take in what Ressler had said about Tom, and what she remembered from before her ex-husband had knocked her unconscious. The other man had wanted... the two of them had talked about “looking at the merchandise”. And it wasn't hard to figure out what they meant. It was literally her nightmares come to life.

By the time footsteps came running down the hall, everything around Liz felt blurry and unreal. A tiny part of her knew she should care whether that was Red coming or someone else. But it was too much. She couldn't face this. She had to retreat. That would be better. Then she wouldn't have to feel the terror, or the self-loathing, or despair at her helplessness, or even her worry for her partner.

Vaguely, she heard someone speaking. It wasn't Tom. At least it wasn't Tom. It wasn't the other man, either. Good. Ressler would be okay. She allowed herself to drift away.

There were times when the nothingness receded. Once, she heard raised voices, though she couldn't make out any words. A few times, she was suddenly aware that someone was touching her, and when she couldn't escape, she fought the hands away with all her strength. There was probably some reason it was surprising that she could do that? It wasn't important. The hands stopped touching her.

At some point, she could smell food. She was hungry. That was... That meant... Unwillingly, Liz followed the smell and the sound of someone speaking softly. She didn't go very far, but she went far enough to see the bowl of hot cereal in front of her. And her hand. She could move that. She picked up the spoon and ate a bite.

Someone spoke again, still gentle. But words weren't important. She didn't bother to try to understand. She ate the food and then set the spoon back down. Now she could go away again.

Time passed like that. Every so often, someone or something would draw her back partway to accomplish some necessary task. She preferred the nothingness, but something within her didn't want to give up completely, so she did the tasks. There were people around when she was there. She knew that she knew them. She wasn't in danger. That was all that mattered.

When she was there, though, sometimes she remembered that there were other things she should care about. People. But thinking like that also made her remember the things she needed to escape. So she always left again. It was easier. It was better.

A few times, she dreamed. It didn't seem fair that she could escape all the time except when she dreamed. Yet sometimes the dreams weren't too bad – she was a little girl, on a road trip with her dad, or she was her adult self sitting and laughing with her coworkers at the Post Office. That was nice. Even those dreams, however, tended to fade into scenes of fear and torment. Yet when she had nightmares, it seemed like there was usually someone there to wake her before too long. She would feel the tears on her face, hear a familiar voice, and sometimes even see the person or people. And that would be enough. As long as no one touched her, she could go back to the safe place.

One of those times, though, something new happened. She woke in the dark and no one was there. She had woken without help. The dream was already gone, leaving just a hint of the fear behind, along with her anger at what had caused the fear. It was dark because it was night, Liz realized. Not because everything was dim and foggy.

The door to the room opened quietly just as it came over her that she had no idea where she was, yet she wasn't frightened about that fact. Someone came into the room and shut the door. It was quite dark, but she recognized that silhouette. Her partner. Ressler. He was here. Why was he here, in the room where she was sleeping? It didn't occur to her to speak, to ask.

Something must have alerted him to the fact that she was awake, though. “Liz?” he whispered, turning to face her bed and coming a few steps closer.

She blinked. Speaking seemed to be beyond her, but she scooted back in the bed to sit up. She wanted to talk to him. If she did that, she might know more about what was going on.

“Hey, can you hear me?” His voice was just above a whisper now.

She nodded, hoping he could see it in the darkness. A small part of her wanted to reach out a hand, but the rest of her quailed at the idea of the contact. She tried a smile instead, although again she didn't know if he could see.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice sounded rough. “Do you mind if I turn on your lamp?”

She shook her head. She wanted to be able to see him clearly, too. When the light turned on, she blinked repeatedly, and then gazed at him. He looked tired. He was dressed for sleep. More worryingly, his arm was in a cast. For a moment, she remembered why that might be, but that was far too close to the other thing that she couldn't think about.

Maybe he had noticed where her eyes had fallen. “My arm's fine, Liz. The doctor said I should be able to get the cast off in a few weeks.”

Nodding again, she raised her eyes to his face. God, she wanted to say something. It seemed like it must have been such a long time since she had. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out, so she closed it again with a frustrated breath.

“I'm really glad you woke up, Liz,” said Ressler gently.

That sounded like he was talking about waking up from a lot more than just a night of sleep. Again, though, she couldn't seem to ask her questions. To her frustration, she felt tears in her eyes.

“Hey, it's all right,” he said quickly, looking concerned. “You don't have to talk if you don't want to.” He sat down on an easy chair that she saw had a blanket on it.

Liz wiped a hand under her eyes. She was tired of crying and being afraid. The nightmares had to stop, too. It was time to go on the offensive. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathed deeply, and then opened them. “Where's Tom?” she asked, her voice hoarse. She remembered. He had gotten out, and he had contacted his associates... she remembered it all. She had to, in order to leave behind the role of victim.

Ressler's eyes widened. “You're safe, Liz.”

She cleared her throat. “Where is he?” she repeated, and now her voice was hard.

“Reddington's people caught up to him after they came and found us,” he said, still sounding reluctant. “I think the story the FBI knows is that he was captured, interrogated, and executed. Red knows a lot more than that.”

He was dead. “Good.” She shuddered all over, and pulled the blanket up over herself. “Where are we?”

“Maryland, at a private hospital that belongs to Reddington,” said Ressler. “We've both been here for a week now. Well, I've been in and out, the past couple of days.”

Liz gasped. “A week? But...” She trailed off as a few hazy memories of having moved around in this room returned to her. “I was going to say I can't remember at all, but I guess I kind of do.” She swallowed. Her ex-husband's actions, combined with all the rest of the stress of the past month or so, had literally driven her out of her mind. Or maybe deeper into it. And the emotions all of this brought back still felt like too much to handle. It was dreadfully easy to imagine pulling away from them again.

“Liz,” Ressler said sharply. “Liz, don't.”

She looked up at him, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding, and she suddenly had a flash of the view from that table, of her partner's horrified, sickened face as he saw her. No, she tried to tell herself. Stop with the crying. But she couldn't. One hand over her mouth, she sobbed.

“Liz,” she heard Ressler say, “just breathe.”

But when he stood and made as if to reach for her, it was like a switch flipped somewhere. She screamed, and barely caught herself well enough to keep herself from falling out of bed in her haste to get away. Instead of falling over completely, she landed on one knee and pushed herself into the corner, still sobbing. Part of her saw and recognized that her partner looked stricken. The other part, the larger part, was pushing her away mentally in addition to the physical distance she'd just put between herself and the threat. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back.

“I'm sorry,” she could hear. “God, I'm sorry. I forgot. I just wanted – I'm sorry, Liz.” That was Ressler. He sounded much more desperate than she ever heard him.

The door opened, and she flinched and cried out. Things got blurry and muted again for some time. But this time she didn't want to stay away. She didn't have much of a plan of action yet, but this wasn't part of it. Of that fact, she was sure. So, though it seemed to take a monumental effort, she came back and stood up, her hand against the wall to steady herself.

“Lizzie?” It was the other man who had entered the room after she screamed. His voice sounded hopeful but disbelieving.

“Red,” she said. Her breathing was still uneven, still hitching. She realized she should probably say something further, but that was about all she had at the moment.

“I – I'm sorry I startled you when I came in,” he said, staring at her like he couldn't believe his eyes.

“I'm guessing I startled you first,” she said, moving back to her bed and sitting down.

He smiled briefly, still wondering. “That's true. But Agent Ressler was just telling me that it seems like you're feeling better.”

Liz scoffed. “Better. I guess.” What did that say, if he could tell Red that while she was in the process of freaking out because he'd taken a step in her direction?

“Yes, better,” Ressler insisted, before Red could speak. “It's my fault you reacted like that. I knew you haven't wanted anyone to touch you since – since you got here, Liz. I just forgot.”

“Donald's right,” said Red. “Your reaction is in no way a negative reflection on you.”

Despite her desire to succeed at getting past this, Liz found it difficult to see her extreme overreaction to Ressler – who had (now that she thought of it) probably wanted to comfort her – as a positive thing at all, much less better than not reacting. And even though she was aware, logically, that this didn't mean she would instinctively treat every approach or touch as a threat for the rest of her life, the prospect of that continuing for any amount of time was still breathtakingly awful. She didn't answer Red.

“Well,” Red said, after a moment of silence, “I'll let you rest, Lizzie.” He turned to go.

“Red, I want to talk about Tom,” said Liz. When he faced her again, eyebrows raised, she shook her head. “Not right now. But tomorrow.”

“If you're up to it,” Red said, uneasy. “Good night, Lizzie.” He left.

“I should go, too,” said Ressler. “I, um, you've been sleeping better with someone in the room. That's why I was here. But I don't want to – ”

“No,” said Liz, trying not to panic. “I mean, I – considering what's happened to you the last few times you've, um, interacted with me at night, maybe you should go.”

“But you'd rather I stayed?” Ressler said. His expression was kind, not pitying.

She breathed for a few seconds. “Yes,” she admitted. “I still, um, I still don't want to be alone.”

“All right, then I'll stay,” said her partner. He turned off the lamp and sat down on the chair, shifting the footrest so he could recline.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as she lay back down as well.

“You're welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Namarie for her additions to the Red POV of this section.
> 
> (And Merry Christmas, folks!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another warning for mentions of non-con in this chapter (just Liz dealing with what has already happened).

~~~~~~

The next day, Liz learned that the FBI had been told she had been sexually assaulted, and that the likely culprit was Tom Keen. A very uncomfortable Ressler apologized for giving a statement on her behalf, without her permission or input, but said he'd had to think of something. That did bring her up short for a while, but when she thought about it, what he'd said was probably the only explanation that could be given that would make sense. At least now that Tom's body had been found, Liz wouldn't have to file charges. She knew there would be follow-up, however. But for now she was on medical leave.

The other things she learned had to do with the results of Red's interrogation of Tom. Apparently he had been contacted by a business partner of Berlin's who was active in the black market trade in human organs. This man had heard through Berlin about Sam and what he had created for Liz. And he was looking to seize control over production of the high-quality artificial organs that Sam had invented. So, once Tom had escaped from the boat, he had decided, supposedly, to do what he could to keep this man, Gifford, from going through with his plan to capture and torture her for the location of the warehouse. That was why Tom had captured her instead, in order to allow Gifford to get a look at the merchandise first. Tom had claimed this had been a step in the process of him stopping the man somehow before he had really done anything to Liz. He'd also acted horrified when he heard that she woke up while still paralyzed and exposed.

All this, Red informed her in a flat voice when she asked about it after they'd all had breakfast, the morning after she'd really woken up.

Once Liz was sure she would be successful in not throwing up the food she'd just eaten, she had more questions. “Ressler told me he's dead. Which I'm not complaining about, but did you at least get anything useful about Berlin from him, first?”

Red studied her face, head tilted. “Lizzie, much as I detest the man, I didn't kill him out of revenge. I killed him because he was committed both to looking out for himself and to his own twisted, obsessive idea of what was best for you. And I knew that would continue to lead him to hurt you, as long as he was alive.”

“Really? You didn't kill him out of revenge?” Liz asked, eyebrows raised.

Red frowned. “Are you telling me you would have?”

Liz sighed. “You still haven't answered my first question.” She couldn't actually decide whether she would have preferred to be the one to fire the shot, though any doubt she'd had about wanting him dead had vanished as soon as she realized just to what extent he'd taken advantage of her trust. Maybe she wasn't done mourning the husband she had thought she married, but now that she knew who Tom was – or more accurately, who he wasn't – she didn't grieve for that person.

“I did finally get a name for a contact of Berlin, that may be useful for tracking him down. We're also tracking Gifford, of course,” said Red. He paused for a moment. “Normally, I would consider providing these names to the FBI, as well, but you need time to recover before going back to work.”

That was undeniable. Recovery seemed all but impossible at the moment – not that she wasn't going to try. For the moment, she just nodded. At least she knew Red's people would continue to pursue this issue. Though they hadn't had a lot of success thus far.

Another thought occurred to Liz. “What about... what about the other pieces of equipment you said Tom...?” She trailed off, then cleared her throat. “Did you find out what they were for?”

“He didn't elaborate much on those, no,” Reddington said, eyes dark. “I can tell you that Berlin wanted to use you against me, for intel gathering. He also seems to be under the impression that you have information about the night of the fire.”

Liz blinked. “What? Why? All I remember is the fact that there _was_ a fire. And why would he even care? What would I know that's important from when I was four years old?”

Red shrugged. “It's hard to say.”

Shivering again, because there was nothing about this subject that wasn't awful to consider, Liz narrowed her eyes at him. That wasn't much of an answer. Still, it wasn't as if she was surprised that Reddington wouldn't go into detail about an event in her past.

~~~~~~  
Three Days Later

Liz walked quickly to her office, avoiding making eye contact with any of her coworkers. Most of them had only awkward things to say, anyway, and she since she still couldn't shake their hands or anything like that, that made it worse. She hoped her sigh of relief when she joined Ressler inside wasn't too obvious.

“So?” asked her partner, a moment later.

“So I'll be talking to her tomorrow afternoon,” said Liz. “But I don't think... I'll see her for very long.”

He frowned. “Why not? I know I'm not one to talk, but don't you want to be cleared for returning to field duty?”

“I do,” she said, and looked studiously down at her desk. “But I think I'm going to have to ask her for a referral. To someone who specializes in assault victims.”

“Ah,” said Ressler, his voice hoarse.

“Not that I can tell anyone the whole story, no matter what,” said Liz, after another pause.

“Right.”

Liz turned her attention to the paperwork she was supposed to be filling out, and there was silence for several minutes. Then she sighed. “How much do you know, Ressler?”

He looked uncomfortable, even guilty. “Not that much. I mean, um, I remember what you said about your father being involved in illegal medical research. And I know what I saw, and Reddington said it was – it was artificial skin. He didn't tell me much more than that, once we were at his clinic. All he did was say your father had saved your life when you were little, and that you could decide what to tell me once you were better.”

Liz swallowed with difficulty. It was still hard to think about him having seen that – especially since she herself hadn't been in a position to see much of anything. Not that it would have helped if she could have. Her stomach turned. For a moment, she felt like fleeing. But she recognized that this desire was irrational.

“You don't have to tell me,” said Ressler. “I – I'm guessing that this is all really new for you, too.”

His voice was so apologetic that it brought tears to her eyes. She wiped them away. “Ressler, if anyone deserves to know, it's you. After what you did... But I don't think I can talk about it yet.”

“You don't owe me anything, Liz,” he said firmly. “You're my partner, and my friend. Hell, even if you weren't, I'd like to think I would have tried to help, anyway.”

Because I was so completely pitiful, Liz didn't say out loud. Instead, she nodded. She was grateful. But she was also extremely tired of being indebted to people. Even though it wasn't his fault, and he had just told her not to worry about feeling that way, the more she thought about it, the more weighed down she felt.

Reddington didn't come to the Post Office that day (as she'd known he wouldn't, while he had to know she wasn't cleared for field duty). So after she'd picked up some takeout and eaten, she steeled herself and called him. “I need to talk to you,” she said, without preamble, when Dembe had given him the phone.

“What is this about, Lizzie?” His voice, normally so expressive, was totally neutral.

She pondered her answer for a moment. “I need to make sure that what just happened to me never happens again. And I'm not talking about more of your hired goons stalking me, or anything like that.”

He also paused before replying. “I assume you have some specific ideas.”

“I do.”

“Very well,” he said. “Shall I come to you, or have Dembe give you my address?”

She ended up going to him, if only because she wasn't sure how long she could stand to be in his presence and she didn't want to end up being driven out of her own residence again. When she got there, Dembe let her in. Unexpectedly, he spoke. “Agent Keen, I'm glad you're feeling better.”

Surprised, she managed to thank him, and then proceeded into the main room of the house, already off-kilter. But she got her thoughts in order as well as she could.

“Lizzie. How was your day, back at work?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Boring. Look, Red, I'm not here for small talk.” This was not going to be easy to say, but it wouldn't get easier. “It's absolutely unacceptable that Tom was able to put me in that position. I'm not talking about him being in my life at all, though that's also unacceptable.”

Red swallowed. Then he nodded. “I don't disagree. What did you have in mind?” He invited her to sit down.

She did so, and he didn't miss that she sat in one of the seats that was farthest away from him. “It's obviously not enough that access to – to my chip is so restricted. Because I'm not exaggerating when I say that I would rather face the consequences of never having a check-up on my organs again than let anyone who happens to put pressure in the right places on me ever be able to do _that_ to me again.” Her voice was shaking now, but it wasn't quiet, and she met his eyes squarely.

Liz had heard him draw a sharp breath as she went on. Now he nodded once, although she didn't think it was exactly in response to what she'd said, and straightened in his seat. “It's true that the design of your skin and the method of accessing your cybernetics hasn't changed much in the upgrades that you – that they've received.”

Liz flinched at his choice of pronoun, though he'd caught himself and corrected it. She pressed her lips together. “Okay. Well, now these people that are doing this work are going to figure out an upgrade that allows me to limit access to the smallest possible number of people. This is already pretty advanced technology, so if you tell me I can't make it specific to certain people, I'm going to say that's bullshit.”

“I won't tell you that,” was Red's reply. “In fact, I should have thought of that years ago.”

“You're wrong,” Liz snapped. “You – or someone else, if it couldn't be you – should have told me about all this years ago, and it would have taken me no time at all to think of it. I don't care how much you say you care about me. It's not your body, so it's not that odd that it wouldn't occur to you.”

A muscle in Red's face twitched, but he simply nodded.

“So. You need to tell me how to contact that doctor, and how to find that warehouse. That's non-negotiable.” She steadied her voice. “Will they let me in without you, or are you, like, my sponsor or guardian or something?”

Now he looked openly pained. “Lizzie, one thing that did occur to Sam and to me from the beginning is that your treatment would have to belong to you. You are Dr. Steiner's patient. No one will keep you from being treated.”

“Good,” said Liz. She had to show neither too much gratitude for common decency, nor how much she had feared the absence of it in this situation.

“I'll give you the information,” said Red. “I'll also request that you inform me if you will be undergoing a major procedure for this upgrade, simply so that I can be alert for your safety.”

“It won't be soon,” Liz said, her eyes sliding away from his. “I can't...” She stopped, because even thinking about the reason she couldn't made her chest feel tight. “Anyway,” she went on before he could say something sympathetic, “fine, I'll keep you in the loop.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low, nearly inaudible. “And though I'm not expecting your forgiveness, before you leave, Lizzie, let me say that I'm sorrier than I can put into words. In my desire to protect you, I know I've made unpardonable mistakes. Tom may have been the worst of these.”

Liz clenched her jaw and stood. “You're right not to expect me to just move past all of this. I guess it's good to know you can admit when you're wrong, though.”

Eyes dark, Red pulled a small card out of his pocket. “This is Dr. Steiner's information, including the current location of his clinic. I suggest you memorize it and then destroy the card.”

She nodded, taking it and pocketing it. “What about...” Then she sighed. This was potentially far more awkward and scarring than anything else they'd yet discussed tonight. “What about payment? How is my treatment paid for?” If Red said it was his money, she didn't know what she would do. To be indebted to him to quite that extent...

Red's eyes widened, as he possibly followed a similar train of thought. “Lizzie,” he said, sounding choked. He cleared his throat. “Without Sam, neither Dr. Steiner nor the others would have this work to do. They wouldn't charge you any more than they would have charged him.”

She wanted to believe that. “Because he was my dad, not... not because of any other reason?”

“What other reason?” he asked gently.

Because I'm their best test subject? Because I'm their only test subject? Because you threatened them, or they owe you? She didn't say any of those things.

But Red had always been far too good at reading her. “I realize you don't personally know the doctor or his team, Lizzie,” he said. “Please believe, however, that no one had to tell them to make your treatment a priority. Sam invested everything he didn't need for daily life in this practice. In addition, they do provide and sell cybernetics on a smaller scale to other patients, which is profitable. And I do invest in the practice on a business level. But I don't entirely fund them. That's not necessary.” He paused, then added, “Remember, too, that this technology has benefited me, as well. I'm another patient of theirs, though I require less care than you.”

Liz had forgotten. She blinked, then nodded again. He hadn't spoken her fear aloud, but she had a feeling he understood it completely. “Okay,” she said. And then she left before she could break down in front of him.

That night, Liz lay in bed at yet another motel, staring at the ceiling. She had begun to think she would never be able to sleep normally again. If Ressler had been there... But she couldn't be so needy. She had to be able to sleep by herself like an adult. Yet every time she closed her eyes, adrenaline flooded her body and she imagined someone – usually Tom (he was dead, he couldn't), or sometimes Gifford (she didn't have a clear memory of what he looked like), or sometimes even Red, Sam, or Ressler – someone paralyzing her and doing whatever they wanted with her. The details of what they did weren't clear, but they didn't have to be. Worst was when she had actually fallen asleep before those fears came fully alive, which allowed for her to actually be unable to move until she woke up gasping and crying.

The upshot was that she hadn't had a good night's sleep since she left Red's clinic (and she'd probably not had very many nights of healthy sleep there, either). The therapist assigned to the Post Office would probably be willing to prescribe her sleeping pills, but the idea of purposefully making it harder to wake herself up was unthinkable. It would be nearly as bad as that terrible function of her chip. At least her BioMonitor still showed comfortingly normal readings when she checked it.

With all this, though, it wasn't really a surprise when her therapist (Dr. Friedman at the Post Office had no problem referring her) helped her to realize that it wasn't just that she didn't feel safe sleeping alone. It wasn't even that she didn't feel safe at all when she was alone. “You experienced an enormous violation, Agent Keen, and it was at the hands of someone you once trusted and loved deeply. Now you're unable to trust your even your own self, your own body. Am I right?”

Liz shivered. “I...” She took a deep breath. “It doesn't even feel like it belongs to me anymore.” That was the first time she fully realized this, even though she had read about rape victims feeling this way before. Liz herself thought she had started to feel that since the night her lungs had failed. Still, just because there was an added dimension here she couldn't talk about, didn't mean it didn't make a deeply unpleasant kind of sense.

The woman nodded. “I'm sure that brings other emotions into play for you, as well.”

She nodded. “Anger, mostly. It's not fair. And it's not fair that as much as I tell myself I'm still... myself, that isn't enough to let me sleep, or react normally to touch.”

“That 'new normal' you undoubtedly read about in your own studies isn't here yet,” Dr. Titus said.

“No, it isn't,” said Liz. “Not even close.”

“I know you won't like to hear this, but there's no way to speed up the recovery process, mentally,” said Dr. Titus. “It just has to happen. Even these talks won't necessary make it faster – though we hope, of course, that they'll help you recover more fully. That said, I can help you right now with suggestions for getting a full night's sleep.”

“Which would be much better than nothing,” Liz admitted.

Dr. Titus smiled. “And if it won't speed up your recovery, it will at least help it to not take even longer. Sleep deprivation is no one's friend.” For the rest of the session, the doctor taught her relaxation techniques, which, paired with purposeful redirection of her negative thoughts, would hopefully allow her to sleep.

In the first completely good news that Liz felt like she'd had in a very long time, the suggestions seemed to work that night. It wasn't as if she magically slept like a baby. In fact, she still had a few nightmares. But she was able to go back to sleep afterward.

It was good to feel more rested when she took her first solo trip to the warehouse where Dr. Steiner worked. She was still very uncomfortable as she knocked on the nondescript door of the place, but she wasn't dying this time. And she'd had enough sleep to feel more grounded. It was a doctor's appointment. Granted, it would likely be the weirdest one she ever remembered going to, but that's still what it was.

“Miss Keen?” A man, not the doctor, opened the door. She thought he looked vaguely familiar. “Come in.”

Liz breathed carefully as she followed him past the table where she had woken up that day, and into a side room that was a lot more like a regular doctor's office. Dr. Steiner met her at the doorway. “Miss Keen, it's good to see you up and around!” He sounded genuinely pleased.

She tried for a smile. “Thank you. I guess I have a lot to thank you for, actually.”

He waved a hand. “Please. Your dad was the smartest and most dedicated man I've had the privilege to know – and a lot of that dedication was to you. I'm glad to be able to help.”

Liz's throat felt thick at that. As much as she had felt like a traitor for even allowing herself to wonder whether her dad's love for her had been real, it was still more comforting than she wanted to admit to hear this. “Well, I at least have to say 'thank you' again for that.”

He smiled. “You're welcome. Thanks, Derek.” This was to the man who had escorted her in.

Liz and the doctor went inside the office, and he shut the door. “So, you said you have some ideas about an upgrade of some kind, for your skin?”

She mentally shook her head at how easily he could say such a bizarre phrase. “I do.” She sat, and tried to organize her thoughts. “I don't know how much you know about my life, apart from this.” She gestured around. “But suffice it to say, recent events have made me absolutely sure that I need more security. I want it to be at least as hard to access, uh, inside of me as it is to access the chip.”

His eyes widened for a moment, but then he looked thoughtful. “I assume Mr. Reddington showed you your last diagnostic, as he said he would?”

“Yes,” said Liz.

“All right. So you're familiar now with your treatment history.” Dr. Steiner rubbed a hand across his chin. “Are you talking about limiting your internal access to specific people?”

“Ideally,” said Liz. “I can't think of a reason why anyone but you and the others on staff here should be able to... open me up.” She crossed her arms.

“No, I suppose not,” the doctor agreed. “That's logical. And safer, as you say.” He pondered for a moment longer. “Some kind of fingerprint recognition added to the skin is probably the way to go. And I would suggest we include a way for you to approve adding someone else to the roster, just in case.”

“Uh, yes, that makes sense,” said Liz. Her stomach was in knots by now, though she wasn't sure precisely why.

He nodded. “Good. Well, this is going to take a little time to figure out and develop. We've never done anything quite like it before, but I can state with confidence that we should have a prototype to test soon. Say, two weeks?”

Liz blinked. That was faster than she had expected. “Okay.” She wondered what the testing procedure would be like. Hopefully she'd be less tense about having other people touch her by then.

“I'll let you know, of course,” said Dr. Steiner. He smiled. “Other than that, though, are you doing all right? Your readings seem to have been holding steady.”

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, um, everything seems to be working right.” Except my mind, she thought, but that wasn't this man's fault.

“Great. Well, now you have my contact information. Call me anytime, night or day.” He stood, and held out a hand.

Liz had stood before she saw the gesture. Now she froze. It was just a handshake. She could do this. Gritting her teeth, she extended her hand and grasped his. Her skin crawled, but she maintained the contact for a few seconds before releasing his hand and bringing hers quickly back to her side. “I appreciate that,” she said, and hoped her voice didn't sound too strained.

She waited until she was back in her car to allow herself to shake all over. It wasn't just the handshake. She was trying so hard to make this a normal thing, but it just wasn't. If everything went as planned, some of her already artificial skin was going to be replaced with an upgrade that included fingerprint scanning capability. It was insane.

Still. She had taken a real step toward reclaiming her own self. If she could have explained it to Dr. Titus, she was sure her therapist would be pleased. And even Red, master of making her business his own, seemed to understand that he needed to back the hell off in this area at least. He still hadn't even initiated any contact with her since his revelation about Tom.

She did learn, however, that he'd asked Aram for help locating a missing young woman. And of course, where Reddington was concerned, Aram wasn't likely to refuse. Liz was irritated that he'd used Aram's obvious awe of him to force him to do something off the books. Yet she didn't bother to confront Reddington about it. Once she thought about it, the chances were that it had something to do with Berlin. And as much as she wanted to be involved in hunting that man down, she knew she still couldn't. At least some progress was still being made.

In any case, that meant the next item on her list was to tell Ressler at least something about all this. He'd been ridiculously patient and thoughtful – to the point that she was afraid he thought she was permanently broken. She wished there had been a way for him not to know what Tom's actions had done to her, mentally. But then again, once he'd seen the physical results, it wasn't really possible for him to have seen her be more vulnerable than that. And it wasn't like she was truly angry at Red for taking him to the clinic as well, thereby saving his life.

When she told her partner privately at work (which was dull, not having had a case to work on for more than two weeks) that she wanted to tell him more about what he'd seen, he looked alarmed. “Are you sure? Liz, I told you that you don't owe me anything. I don't want –”

“You don't want to make me feel worse. I get it, Ressler,” she interrupted. “And I appreciate that. But I'm tired of you treating me like I'm about to shatter. I won't. I'm not going to... disappear again like that.”

“Okay,” he said, with a slight frown. “Glad to hear it.”

“So.” She took a breath. “After work, then?” He still seemed reluctant. “Look, Ressler. I have to talk about this with someone. I'm not going to tell my therapist, since she'd probably recommend I get locked up. I'm not feeling like chatting with Reddington at the moment. But if you really don't want to hear, I don't want to force you, either.”

Ressler shook his head. “No, I definitely don't want to leave you with no one to talk to about this. That's not a good place to be.” He swallowed, and if she hadn't known better, she would have thought he looked guilty. Then he met her eyes. “You want to come over to my place again?”

“Sure,” she said, relieved. “Although, to be honest, it's not very, um, appetizing conversation, so maybe we should make it an after dinner thing.”

He winced. “Okay. Eight, then?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ressler.”

Of course, Liz barely managed to eat any dinner, anyway, so nervous was she about the evening's coming events. But she did want to do this. She wanted – needed – someone on her side, who didn't have his own hidden agenda. And her partner seemed to fit that bill. Plus, if she was able to explain, then perhaps she could prevent him from feeling like he had to constantly worry about her.

She brought the printout that Red had given her. Once she arrived at Ressler's apartment and had sat down, she took it out of her purse. “Um, so, I guess I should start by telling you that my introduction to this whole thing was... pretty dramatic. It ended with Red driving me to the warehouse where Sam's old research is still being done. And if he hadn't brought me there, I would have died.”

His eyes widened. After a moment, he asked, “Are you all right? I mean, you... Reddington told me you were fine, physically, when he found us both that night.”

“Yeah, I'm fine, now,” said Liz. She took the plunge. “My father's research was in cybernetics.”

Ressler nodded slowly. “I – I sort of thought it would be something like that. After what I saw.”

Liz sighed. “I couldn't really see much, but I had a pretty good idea already. This is the results of the scan the doctor did after he and some others saved my life.” She handed him the paper.

Ressler sat back and read. He didn't look at her as he did so, which was probably good. But that did mean that by the time he set the printout down on the coffee table, Liz's hands were clasped together and she felt queasy again. She cleared her throat. “So that's it. Now you know almost as much as I do.”

Finally, he looked up. He was disbelieving, certainly, but there didn't seem to be any sign of disgust or fear as his eyes met hers. “You've only known about this for a little while.”

It was a question, though it didn't sound like one. “Yeah.”

“Shit, Keen, if it had been me, I think going almost catatonic for a few days would have been the least I did,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “And I wouldn't have needed anything else traumatic to trigger that.”

She huffed out a breath. “Is that a compliment?”

He snorted. “It's the truth.” He glanced down at the printout again. “Thank you, for telling me this. That can't have been easy.”

Shaking her head, she leaned back against the cushions of the couch. “No. But... like I said, I just need someone I can talk to about this without wondering what angle they're looking for. So,” she went on, with a deep breath, “thank you for being willing to hear this.”

He frowned, and then looked at her seriously. “We're partners. That's what we do, right? Trust each other?”

She smiled, as much as she could. “Right.”

Then he sighed. “God, now there's no way I can't tell you.” He stood up, leaving the paper on his coffee table, and ran his hands over his face again.

“Tell me what, Ressler?” He looked nervous. She hadn't anticipated her revelation would inspire one from him in turn. And here she'd been thinking he didn't have any secrets. But she quashed her own nerves in order to let him talk.

“I mean, I know you'd find out sooner or later,” he added, almost as if he wasn't really talking to her. Then he faced her squarely and took a deep breath. “Liz... after Audrey, I... things got pretty bad. Obviously.” He cleared his throat. “I'd come home to my apartment and it was empty, and some of her things were still here, and I'd just want to not be there. But there wasn't anywhere else.”

“Ressler...” Liz started to say. She wanted to ask why he hadn't come to her with this, but she kept quiet again. It was clearly hard enough for him to have said this much.

“I know,” said her partner, with a quirk of his lips. “It was stupid, to try to deal with it completely by myself. Part of me knew that. Still. I kept things to myself, and managed all right for a little while. Until I didn't. There was one day – I don't even know if there was anything especially bad about it – but when I got back to my apartment, I saw the pills they gave me after I got shot. I'd never finished them.” He sat back down heavily in the chair across from the couch. “And I took one. And I felt better.”

Liz's heart clenched. She hadn't known. This was something she felt like she should have noticed. Had she been so absorbed by her own issues that she had ignored her partner's self-destruction? “So you kept taking them?” she asked quietly.

He nodded, taking in a ragged breath and staring down at the floor. “Yeah. I – I never stopped, since then.”

“I'm sorry, Ressler,” she said. “How can I help?”

He looked up at that. “Uh...” Then he cleared his throat. “Cheesy as it sounds, you're helping already. Just by listening.”

Liz huffed a small laugh. “That doesn't sound cheesy. I came here for that kind of help tonight, remember? And got it.” After another pause, she went on. “And I'm happy to listen anytime. I mean it.”

“Thanks,” he said. Then he blinked several times, though she didn't see any tears. “I'm sorry I let you down, Liz. I haven't been at my best lately.”

“Ressler, you were there for me when I – when I...” Her throat closed, and she shut her eyes and focused on her breathing. When she opened them, he was waiting patiently, kindly. “You haven't let me down. Not when it counted the most.”

Ressler scoffed. “If you say so.”

Liz laughed, louder this time, though not without a little bitterness. “Look at us.”

“Quite the pair, huh?” he agreed.

“Yeah.” If she had been sitting next to him, Liz thought perhaps she could have held his hand without panicking. But they weren't sitting together, so the moment passed.


	7. Chapter 7

~~~~~~

Liz's appointments with Dr. Titus continued. Familiar as she was with the therapy process (mostly in theory, before this), she still struggled against the feeling that all the sessions accomplished was to give her another situation in which she had to be very vulnerable. And even though she knew, objectively, that this was exactly the place to be vulnerable without also being in real danger, it was very difficult and always exhausting.

Dr. Titus was patient with her. “You're doing fine, Elizabeth. Even the fact that you're still coming, despite your desire to avoid the discomfort, is a good sign.”

Liz dropped her gaze to her hands. “I still... I can still only barely even shake hands. I didn't know the lack of touch could feel suffocating like this. I don't even – I mean, I'm single, and I don't have family, but I never realized...” She trailed off.

“We're not meant to be isolated, as human beings,” said the doctor. “You told me you're close with your partner, your friends at work. Touch is a part of that kind of connection.”

She nodded. Even way back before she would have said she and Ressler were friends, he had physically supported her, offered her comfort after her encounter with the Stewmaker. And she knew he would have been a literal shoulder to cry on as she dealt with this, except that... Actually picturing that happening was still enough to make her feel cold all over as well as nauseated.

“What are you thinking about?” Dr. Titus asked.

Haltingly, Liz explained. She counted it a small victory that speaking the words out loud didn't make her feel significantly worse – as it would have a few sessions ago. “And he's been so understanding – so much that I keep worrying he thinks I'm permanently broken.” She gave a twisted smile. “I know that's not true, but that doesn't mean I stop worrying.”

“I'm glad you're able to see that someone who clearly respects you, as your partner does, is likely to give you the benefit of the doubt,” said Dr. Titus. “But is it really him you're worried about, or is it you, yourself, who thinks you might be permanently broken?”

Liz stared up at the woman. She bit her lip. “I know I'm not,” was her reply, but her voice was a whisper.

“No, you're not,” Dr. Titus repeated gently. “Elizabeth, have you given any more thought to my suggestion of the support group? I think it would help you to make connections with others who truly understand.”

Liz closed her mouth around the protest that there was literally no one who would really, truly understand what had happened to her. “I've thought about it,” she said, noncommittal. It felt somehow worse to lie to a group of others about the actual trauma she'd been through than it did to bend the truth to speak to her FBI-mandated therapist. Even though she doubted anyone at such a group would require her to actually recount any details.

“I encourage you to consider it seriously,” the doctor said.

The session ended a few minutes later, and Liz dragged herself back to her motel. She ate a late dinner, changed into more comfortable clothes, and tried to watch TV for an hour or so. Instead, she fell asleep sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed.

Some time later – the TV was showing something entirely different, and there was no ambient light filtering in through the curtains – she woke with a start. The nightmare hadn't been anything new. It had been the same threats, the same responses. But this time, as Liz did her best to redirect her thoughts, she happened to glance up at the TV just as the screen showed a man wearing a lab coat and gloves taking a scalpel to someone's skin.

It wasn't even a real video, she tried to tell herself. It was fiction. Reaching for the remote, she turned it off with a shaking hand. Yet redirecting her thoughts didn't seem to be working this time. Maybe it was just too much. Whatever the reason, she could feel her chest getting tight, and the shaking wasn't getting better. She couldn't stop the panic attack before it was full-blown. And the fact that it reminded her of how she'd felt the night Red had told her about all this didn't help.

Just when her vision was starting to blur, the door to her room suddenly burst open. It was Red, and it looked like his expression was one of sheer terror. “Lizzie!”

She couldn't speak. She could barely breathe at all. She could only watch and gasp shallowly, pointlessly, as he knelt in front of her. “Lizzie. Can you tell me if this is an emergency? Do I need to take you to Dr. Steiner?”

Weakly, she shook her head. Unless her replacement organs couldn't handle a panic attack, which she fervently hoped was not the case, this was no emergency. Though of course it felt like it. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried as hard as she could to even out her breathing.

“You're sure?” Red asked, still tense.

Her eyes opened. The pain in her lungs was at least not getting worse. She nodded.

“All right.” He reached up a hand toward her face.

She flinched, and somehow made a faint sound of protest even as the increased adrenaline made everything hurt more.

He moved back from her as if burned, stricken. “I'm sorry. Sorry.” He sighed, and then sat down, keeping several feet between them. “You're safe, Lizzie. Try to breathe.”

She did her best to do just that. Remembering times when his presence would have been enough to make her feel safe, she tried to mentally recreate that feeling. Even though she found she couldn't quite get there, her bruised, battered trust wasn't completely gone. It helped enough. Her desperate, agonized breaths slowed. The tightness faded.

“Good,” said Red, giving her a gentle smile.

Liz didn't feel like smiling, though. Allowing her head to fall back against the bed, she closed her eyes again as her breaths continued to even out. God, she was tired. Not just physically, though the panic attack had undone any benefit of the sleep that had preceded it. She was so tired of all of this. And what was worse was that she couldn't bring to mind a time where she'd felt genuinely good. There had been moments. She had to remember that there were. 

“Are you all right now, Lizzie?” Red asked.

She opened her eyes, but didn't sit up. Instead, she shifted positions so that she was leaning her side against the bed. That was slightly less strain on her neck. “I'm not having a panic attack anymore, if that's what you mean.”

He frowned. “I can see that. We haven't spoken much since the day after you left my clinic, so I suppose my question was more general. How are you doing?”

“Well, you just saw that I still can't handle being touched,” she said, tightening her jaw and not meeting his eyes. She huffed. “And I guess you also saw that sleeping isn't going so well, either.”

“What I saw was the first of this kind of reaction that you've had since Tom,” he said. “Or do you suppose I wouldn't have noticed the BioMonitor alarms for a previous incident?”

Liz blinked. Of course. That had to be why he had shown up. Then it was her turn to frown. “Alarms? I didn't hear anything.”

“Perhaps you were already past the point of being able to hear by the time the alarm sounded,” he suggested. “Either way, I'm sorry that you're still dealing with such effects.”

He was still sitting on the floor across from her. It probably wasn't very comfortable. She knew the carpet wasn't particularly clean, either. “I'm not cleared for field duty yet. Obviously. So, I still can't take any cases.”

“I know,” he said. “The Blacklist can wait.”

She sighed. “But I'm betting you haven't put your search for Berlin on hold. That can't wait.”

“I have no concrete updates for you, I'm afraid,” said Red. “But I am indeed still putting most of my resources into pursuing that matter. I expect to be able to have a more positive answer for you soon.”

Nodding, Liz dropped her eyes from his again. She couldn't even summon the energy to ask why he was still here. Or maybe she didn't actually want him to leave. Staying angry at him was part of why she was so tired, after all.

“Well. I'll let you get some rest, Lizzie,” he said, and stood up.

“If this happens again, you'll know you don't have to come save me,” she said. Then she cringed at how combative that sounded. “I mean, you'll know it's nothing serious.”

He tilted his head. “If this happens again, which I'm sure we'd both prefer it doesn't, I would still rather be over-cautious than arrive too late to save you.”

Had she really expected any other response? Liz almost smiled as she told him, “Speaking of that, you can be the one to explain to the front desk why my door is broken.”

Red's smile in response was genuine. “I believe the chain can be salvaged, actually, so you won't be totally unsecured.” He fiddled with it for a minute. “That should do it. Good night, Lizzie.”

“Good night,” she said. He got the door to close as he left. She stood to engage the chain, and then got back into bed. She remembered no dreams for the rest of the night.

~~~~~~

Liz continued to be on desk duty, still attending her therapy sessions, and Reddington continued to not bring any official cases to the Post Office. One day, however, the situation changed suddenly and drastically. Red showed up, very serious, and immediately went to see Cooper in his office. Liz almost didn't even see that he was there – until Cooper called the whole team into the War Room.

“Listen up, everyone. We have an urgent goal as of right now: to find Assistant Director of National Intelligence Alan Fitch,” her boss announced.

“Why? What's going on?” Ressler asked, shooting a glance at Red.

“Because as of a few hours ago, his capture and murder is Berlin's next goal,” Red said succinctly.

“And how do you know that?” Ressler countered.

“Because he told me,” said Red.

“You talked to Berlin?” Liz asked. “Since when did you even know where he is?” And why hadn't he bothered to share that information with them?

“Not long,” said Red. “But the important thing now is Alan Fitch. I believe he may have already been taken, but we may yet be able to keep him alive.”

Liz closed her mouth on her frustration and questions, and got to work helping with the part of the search that could be done from inside the Post Office. Though she wished she could be out searching with Ressler and Samar, she did her best to concentrate. The fact that this could mean the end of the question of Berlin, very soon, was both distracting and motivating.

The death of Alan Fitch, hours later inside the Box that had once held Reddington, was not an image she (or any of her colleagues, she thought) would soon forget. Even Red looked shaken. But as he went toward the exit, he was already clearly focused on whatever the next goal was.

“Red,” she said, running her left hand over her scar.

He turned. “Yes, Lizzie?”

She pressed her lips together. “Are you going after him now? Berlin?”

“I do have some unfinished business to attend to,” he said.

She nodded. This had been her most stressful day back at work, and as much as she wouldn't want to admit it, it had shown her that she wasn't ready to be back in the field yet. Of the several thoughts running through her head, she decided to go with, “Stay safe.”

For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he smiled. “I'll do my best.”

~~~~~~  
Some Time Later

It was Liz's third day back on field duty. Dr. Titus had asked her to make some appointments to come back in a few times over the next few months, but had declared her well on the way to recovery. And Liz felt genuinely better. She slept more normally, and her physical interactions with other people were more normal, as well. The successful upgrade to her artificial skin helped with that. Even Ressler seemed to be doing better. After she had stumbled in on him detoxing one weekend, he had promised her that was the day he took his last pill. The fact that he had seemed generally less tense since then seemed to confirm that he meant it.

Everything still wasn't normal, however. Even the end of the conflict with Berlin (Reddington hadn't come out and confirmed that he'd killed the man, but he had told the task force that they didn't need to worry anymore) didn't mean every danger was over. Liz was reminded of this when she and Ressler went to clear a suspect's basement that would turn out to be storage for illegal weapons. Liz went in first and flicked on the light – only to feel a sharp pinching sensation in her hand as the light came on.

She'd barely even had the chance to cry out in surprise and pain when her chest started to feel funny, and then the back of her head suddenly ached. For a moment, everything went gray.

“Keen! What happened?” It was Ressler's voice.

Liz blinked. She was leaning forward, both hands on the work bench in front of her. Her head felt fine now, and the odd sensation in her chest had mostly faded. “Uh, I – I don't know.” She drew herself up. “I think the light switch shocked me. But I'm fine.”

“You sure? You kind of looked like you were going to pass out there for a second,” said Ressler.

“Well, I'm fine now,” she insisted. “Is the room clear?”

On their way back to the Post Office later, though, Ressler brought it up again. “Look, Liz, I'm not trying to pretend I know anything about this, but I can't help wondering: do you think getting shocked – an outside source of electricity – affected you differently than it might have affected me, if I'd been the one who turned on that light?”

“It wasn't just a little static, Ressler,” she said, glaring. “I'm pretty sure my arm went numb for a minute. You wouldn't have just shaken that off immediately, either.”

“That's not what I meant,” he snapped back. “I wasn't saying there was anything wrong with the way you reacted.”

“Then what were you saying?” She crossed her arms. “There's not that much more electricity in me than in you, Ressler. I'm not a robot.”

“I know that!” he said. “Stop putting words in my mouth! I'm not trying to attack you.”

She took a breath. Apparently she was still extremely sensitive about this subject. “Fine. Tell me what you meant.”

“All I was saying is that, if you did have some kind of reaction to getting an electric shock that's different than what other people might have,” he began carefully, “then maybe that's something you need to know more about.”

She frowned. Her instinct was still to immediately tell him that he had been right to say he didn't know what he was talking about. But that was an overreaction. Instead, after she'd forced herself to pause, she finally said, “I'll see about talking to – to my doctor.” She hadn't yet told him any more details about Dr. Steiner, and he hadn't asked.

Ressler nodded. “All right.” He dropped it, and the day continued without incident.

When she called Dr. Steiner that evening, he told her he would be able to see her the next day (he preferred not to have this kind of conversation over the phone, which was fine with Liz).

So, the next evening, Liz returned to the warehouse. She described what had happened in that basement to Dr. Steiner. “So I hope I don't sound too ignorant if I ask if that could have meant there was something going on with my cybernetics,” she finished.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “In fact, it's good that you thought to ask about this. I know your current readings are all normal. And I can tell you that the design does include some safeguards against power surges. However, if you don't mind, I'd like to run a complete diagnostic to see if this one caused any noticeable result.”

Liz clasped her hands together. “Okay.” This would be the second time she had been awake and aware during this kind of scan. It wasn't as if she could feel anything, but it was still weird to know it was happening.

“Well,” said Dr. Steiner, when the scan was complete, “I have good news and – hmm, I wouldn't call it bad news, but I also have a suggestion. The good news is, everything looks fine. Nothing is damaged. On the other hand, the readings do show faint changes. So it looks to me like if the power surge had been stronger, or of longer duration, our safeguards might not have been enough.”

Liz nodded. “All right. What does that mean? What would you suggest?”

“We could modify your hardware specifically to increase its ability to handle outside power,” said Dr. Steiner. “That would be complex, of course, and would obviously require a significant procedure. My other suggestion would be to add in a few additional, small pieces of equipment in strategic places, whose purpose would be to attract and safely store or dissipate any abnormally high electric charge in your body. Like lightning rods, or grounding electrodes, if you will.”

She swallowed. “How significant of a procedure would the, uh, latter option require?” It wasn't that she planned to decide based only on that consideration, but she did still hate the idea of being... turned off, especially for long periods of time.

“It still wouldn't be quick,” the doctor admitted. “And this would be new for everyone involved, so I can't say for sure. But even taking into account the time required to create and test these devices, I wouldn't think it would be quite as complicated to install them as it would be to remove, modify, and replace each of your existing cybernetics. These pieces would essentially just be modified batteries, after all.”

“Okay,” said Liz. “Can you give me some more specifics about how that would work? I think that idea appeals to me more than the first one.”

“Of course. Let me put together some information, and then I can email it to you as soon as it's ready. Does that work for you?”

She was busy enough at work for a few weeks after this that she almost forgot about the planned procedure. But when Dr. Steiner called her to tell her that they were ready and could fit her in any evening that week, Liz paused for just a moment. “What about tonight?” She figured she might as well get it over with.

“Tonight would be fine, as long as you have around two hours available for the entire process including prep and post-procedure diagnostic,” said the doctor. “And I would recommend both that you have someone who can drive you home, as well as that you take it easy, physically, tomorrow.”

Liz thought quickly. “Timing-wise, that's fine. And I'm sure I can ask someone to drive me.” Given the choice, even though he hadn't yet been to the warehouse, she thought she'd prefer if Ressler could. She was less angry with Reddington by this point, but she was still trying not to rely on him all the time for this kind of thing. She would tell him about the appointment, though. “Let's plan on tonight.”

“You wouldn't have to wait around for me,” Liz said to her partner, after she'd told him about the procedure and come to the part where she asked him if he could drive her. “I'd be fine with just calling you when I'm ready.”

There was a pause. They were right outside the Post Office, ready to leave for the day. The length of the silence started to make Liz fear that she'd misjudged the situation. She cleared her throat. “Uh, don't worry about it if you can't, if you don't have time or you don't want to. I can just –”

“No, Liz, that's not – I'll do it,” Ressler cut in. “I was just thinking ahead to how we can make sure you don't have to do anything too strenuous tomorrow.”

Liz felt unreasonably close to tears at that. “Oh. Um, thanks. Well, I was planning to call Reddington and tell him about the appointment, anyway. So he probably wouldn't bring a case to us tomorrow.”

Ressler nodded. “Good. Then do you want me to pick you up, say, in an hour, and you can give me directions to this place on the way?”

“Sure,” she said. “I really appreciate this, Ressler.”

“It's not a problem, Keen,” he said. “You've helped when I needed a ride before.”

This was more than that, and they both knew it. “I appreciate it, anyway.”

When they reached the building, she found that she appreciated it even more. Her discomfort at the idea of things being done to her in her sleep wasn't gone – even though this was something she had planned for, and it wasn't even the first time since the trauma that had launched her paranoia on this issue. “You okay, Liz?” her partner asked quietly, once they'd parked and she still hadn't made a move to leave the car.

“Yeah,” she said, though her voice sounded tense to her own ears. “Yeah. I just have to remind myself that, not only did I choose to do this, this time, but I need it.”

“Ah.” He met her eyes. “This guy's the real deal, though, right? You said it's the guy who's been taking care of you for years.”

She nodded, and gave a wry smile. “Which would be more comforting if I'd actually known him for years, but still. All right, I'm going now, before I let my screwed-up brain talk me out of this.”

“You want me to come in with you?”

This time, her smile was real, if short-lived because she was going to be nervous about this no matter what. “Yeah, I guess. I'll be coming off being sedated when you pick me up, so it would probably be good if you've seen the place so you know where I'll be.”

So he walked inside with her, and she introduced him to Dr. Steiner. The doctor already knew of him, since his fingerprints were on the very short list of those that her upgraded artificial skin had been programmed to recognize. “It's nice to meet you in person,” he said. “I'm afraid our waiting room doesn't even have old magazines to entertain you during Miss Keen's procedure.”

“I might duck out and then come back in before she's done,” said Ressler.

“All right. I'm sure you know it should take about two hours, all told.”

“I'll plan on being back before then, okay, Liz?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said.

Her partner's face, projecting an air of reassurance, was almost the last thing she remembered before she lay back on the table. After that, they put the mask over her face and asked her to count backward from one hundred. Liz made it to ninety-four before everything went dark.

When she woke up, her eyes didn't want to open right away. She could hear familiar sounds of hospital equipment, and for a moment, she wondered who was sick or injured. And then it came back to her. She opened her eyes, and looked down at herself as best as she could without sitting up. Nothing looked different. Of course it didn't.

“Miss Keen,” said Dr. Steiner, coming into view. “How do you feel?”

She blinked. “Um, fine. A little drugged.”

He smiled. “The procedure went very well. No complications, and we finished updating your chip about fifteen minutes ago. And the final diagnostic was normal, too.”

Blinking again, Liz tried to get her fogged mind to catch up with that information. It was difficult. “Oh. Um, good. So I – so everything's okay?”

He nodded. “Yes. And your partner's waiting. Would you like me to go get him? You can stay lying down for now.”

“Okay,” said Liz. She had almost fallen asleep again by the time she heard people come back into the room with her.

“Liz?” That was Ressler's voice, gentle but insistent. “You want to get out of here?”

She managed to open her eyes again, though it felt like some outside force was holding them closed. “Hmm?”

He smiled. “I said, did you want to get out of here, go somewhere where you can sleep?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She started to sit up, and accepted his hand to help. He looked really nice when he smiled. She wished he would do it more often.

As if in reply, he grinned again. “I'll keep that in mind.”

She stared at him, feeling like she was missing something. “Keep what in mind?”

He raised his eyebrows, still with an expression that looked suspiciously like a smirk. “I tell you what, let's just get you home.”

“You're making fun of me,” she accused, nevertheless leaning on him as she stood up. Without needing to ask, she knew he wouldn't mind if she put her arm around him for extra support.

“I didn't say anything,” he said mildly. “Here, they have a wheelchair for you.” She was sure she had missed whatever it was that had made him smirk. But she sat obediently in the chair. Then he had a short conversation with the doctor that Liz mostly missed. After that, Dr. Steiner told her to call if she noticed anything unusual, though he didn't think she would. And then they were in Ressler's car.

It took her far too long to realize he wasn't taking her back to her motel. “Hey. Ressler, where are we going?”

“My apartment,” he said. “It's going to be a few hours before the sedative wears off completely. I want to make sure you're all right in the meantime. I did ask before we left.”

“You did?” She stared at him. It was too much effort to argue, anyway. Except... “But I don't want to... I mean, uh, last time I hit you in the face.”

He laughed. “That's true. Last time you weren't drugged, though. Either way, I can handle myself.”

“Okay, but I warned you,” was her response. Then she must have fallen back to sleep. The next thing she knew, he was talking to her again.

“Liz, we're here. I can probably carry you if you don't want to stand, but considering your warning, I figured you should at least be awake, first,” he said.

She smiled and looked at him. “Good call.” Then she opened her door and unbuckled her seatbelt. “I can stand.” And she could, although she didn't feel very steady on her feet.

“Let me help,” said Ressler, and he put her arm around himself before putting his around her.

It did help. They may their way to his apartment, and when Liz stumbled, he made sure she didn't fall. She felt safe. “Thanks, Ressler,” she said, as he helped her inside. “I'll try not to punch you if I have a nightmare.”

He laughed again. “I appreciate that. Here, let's get you to the couch. I should change my sheets, and then you can have the bed.”

“You don't have to do that,” Liz mumbled. She sat down on the couch. “You're being so nice.”

“Don't worry about it, Liz,” said Ressler. “Hold on. I'll be right back.”

Liz took off her shoes, then stretched out on the couch. If her partner came back into the room at any point after that, she had no memory of it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, there's a little changing of the canon S2 timeline in this story. It just worked better this way.

~~~~~~

Her day-to-day life didn't seem to be affected at all by the newest pieces of equipment that she'd had added. That was good – that was the way it was supposed to be. And her check-up a week later showed that everything seemed to be functioning as it should. Yet when Liz first actually noticed any result from their installation, it was not at all what she had expected.

The cause was stupid – she reached to unplug her laptop from where it had been charging overnight, and somehow managed to grab too close to the actual plug. Of course she got a shock for her troubles. But the slight pain vanished as soon as she moved her hand. There was no accompanying headache or pressure in her chest. There was, however, an odd warmth from two separate areas in her abdomen which she recognized as the places where Dr. Steiner had installed the new devices.

All this was easy to figure out. Immediately following it, though, was an unlooked-for feeling almost like exhilaration that spread throughout her whole body. “Whoa,” she whispered. It faded, still leaving her feeling energized. Well, the doctor had said they were kind of like batteries. She swallowed. She just hadn't thought that had been what he meant.

Liz reached her hand toward the socket again. Then she stopped herself. Was she really going to purposefully electrocute herself again? What was she, five? She had no special protection against electrical burns, either. Her hands didn't even have artificial skin that could be replaced relatively easily.

Still. She couldn't deny she was very curious. Wincing even as she did it, she extended her other hand toward the socket and touched it with one finger. Of course it hurt again, but the same warmth followed by exhilaration also took place again, too. And now she felt like she needed to go out and do something with all this energy. It was a good thing she had work – including, she assumed, an actual case – to look forward to.

At the office, Aram was actually the first to notice her good mood. “You look happy today, Liz.” He hadn't quite said it in a tone of surprise, but it had almost sounded like that.

She didn't mind. “Yeah, I guess I am,” she said. It was sort of surprising, but she decided not to think about that too much, if she wanted to keep feeling optimistic.

“Well, good,” he said, smiling.

Samar did a double-take when she first saw her. Self-conscious, Liz glanced down at herself, but couldn't see any reason for such a reaction. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” said Samar. “You seemed different this morning. I think I'm just imagining things, though.”

Raising an eyebrow, Liz resisted the urge to look at herself again. “I hope it wasn't different in a bad way.” But she thought she saw Samar giving her one more speculative glance before turning away.

Yet when Red came in, he looked grim enough that she forgot about the exchange. “Lizzie, before I speak to the rest of the team, I'd like to talk to you for a moment.”

She raised an eyebrow, but followed him to a side hallway. “What's wrong?”

“I wanted to warn you ahead of time that this case won't be easy for you,” he said. “It involves the black market trade in illegal human organs. And the victims... Well, it would be distasteful to anyone, but the crime scenes may be particularly difficult for you.”

Liz swallowed. She should have known optimism was foolish. “Then why did you bring this case to us?” She tried not to sound petulant.

“I think you'll agree, when you hear more, that the man behind this operation is truly despicable,” was his answer.

“But that's not the whole story, is it?” she asked. He didn't answer. “Fine. Thanks for the warning, I guess. I'll try not to freak out too badly.”

He was right that the crime scene photos made her skin crawl and caused her gorge to rise. Ressler clearly hadn't taken any time at all to realize what it was doing to her and why, and she saw him shoot Red a death glare. But she tried to indicate without words that she could handle this.

He seemed to accept whatever he read in her expression for the moment. When they were alone in the car, however, he spoke. “Why the hell is Reddington doing this to you? I assume his chat with you earlier was a heads-up, but still.”

Liz sighed. The extra energy she'd started the day with still wasn't gone, even if the pleasant mood was. Now it made her feel fidgety and uneasy. “I'm not happy about it, either. Obviously.”

He gave her a long look. “Well, then, you tell me if anything gets to be too much. I'd suggest right now that you sit this one out, but I'm guessing you wouldn't listen.”

“You're right about that,” she returned. If nothing else, this case would be a test of how well she had truly progressed in terms of mental and emotional healing. “I'll let you know if I change my mind, though,” she added quietly.

After the initial blow, though, Liz mostly could deal with what came up during the investigation into Dr. James Covington. It was unpleasant, but she could focus on the goal and not let it bother her more than it would bother anyone. That was not the case once she and Ressler found the doctor's base of operations.

All her mental preparation was not enough for her to face the sight of the little boy with his chest open, evidently ready for a transplant. Even as she ordered the doctor to put his hands up, she could hear her own voice shaking, and she noticed how detached she felt from her surroundings. Covington's argument that this was the only way this boy would survive made her chest hurt.

And when her partner joined her, and tried to tell her she needed to sit down before she fell down, she wouldn't be deterred. She insisted that they allow the operation to be finished before calling this in. Holding his gaze with hers, she dared him to argue.

When he sighed and broke eye contact, she knew already that he would give in. It wasn't without a pointed reminder that she was breaking the rules, and that even having a reason that seemed good to do it this time was dangerous. She didn't have a good answer for that.

The child's parents thanked them as the FBI swarmed the place later. Liz was sitting down at that point. Her chest still ached faintly, though she was aware that was probably psychosomatic. Her BioMonitor didn't show anything worrying.

Ressler sat down next to her not much after that. She tried not to start too obviously. “Hey. Uh, sorry I'm just sitting here making you deal with – ”

“No, I'm the one who told you to sit out if you needed to,” he interrupted. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I will be, anyway.” And she wasn't just saying that. It was very clear that she had made great strides toward recovery – it was impossible to imagine her having made it through this case even a month ago. Her partner's acceptance of her words was also much more complete.

~~~~~~

The day had still been quite stressful, overall. As if to cap it off, as Liz got out of her car at the motel, she had the strong feeling someone was watching her. When she looked around as unobtrusively as she could, no one nearby seemed suspicious. But the sensation wouldn't leave her alone. One hand inching toward her holster, she walked slowly in the direction of her door.

The man who appeared and put a gun to her side seemed to come out of nowhere. The gun was angled so that it wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, but Liz could feel the muzzle pressing into her ribs. “Come quietly, and you won't get hurt. Yet,” said the man.

That voice... Liz trembled, in spite of herself. She turned her head slightly. Yes, it was Gifford, the man who had been interested in the type of cybernetics Liz had. He had been there with Tom... He had seen... She knew this wasn't the time to panic and freeze, but that knowledge was apparently not enough.

“Calm down,” the man said sharply, though still pitching his voice low. “We don't want to attract attention.”

Aware that her life might depend on it, she tried to slow her breathing and racing heart. But her mind was already halfway back to that horrible day with Tom. She had to get away. Gifford wouldn't let her reach her gun, or twist out of his grip. All of a sudden, the energy she was still carrying from that morning came to mind.

A moment later, just as the man was saying something else, Liz felt a strange, sharp heat pass through her. Her assailant yelled and released her, flying backward and landing roughly several yards away. He stumbled to his feet and brought the gun up – and then a shot rang out. There were screams around her. Liz flinched and looked down. She was unhurt.

Gifford, on the other hand, collapsed again, this time with a spreading pool of blood behind him. For her part, Liz staggered toward her front door. She was sure of only two things: that she wasn't thinking as clearly as she could, and that someone had shot Gifford, which meant she could be next. She reached for her keys, and cried out in pain and bewilderment when her fingers met the metal and there was a jolt. She dropped the keys. It had been like a shock – but it had felt like it came from her.

Her phone rang just then. Flinching, Liz fumbled in her pocket. But that same jolt happened again as her hand touched the phone, and the ringing stopped abruptly. What the hell was going on? Now she could neither get into her house nor call anyone for help, apparently. And all of her limbs were shaking. She felt achy and sick. At least she could manage to sit down on the ground outside her room instead of falling over.

The black Mercedes pulled up some time later – probably not that long. Liz didn't stand up when Red got out. It seemed like too much effort.

“Lizzie,” he said, not quite as urgently as when he'd rushed into the motel following her panic attack, but still very serious, “Lizzie, what's wrong?”

“I don't know what happened,” she said, blankly.

“You don't remember?” His voice was gentle, though he looked even more serious.

“No, I remember,” she said, frowning up at him. “I just can't explain it.”

“Gifford threatened you,” said Red. “I was told you seemed to throw him off somehow before my sniper took him out.”

Liz blinked. “Your sniper. That explains why he didn't shoot me, too, when I couldn't even get inside my room.” Her head ached now, apart from the odd other areas of her body that hurt.

“Why couldn't you?”

Liz noticed vaguely that Mr. Kaplan had shown up, too, and was starting to examine the scene around Gifford's body. She focused her attention back on Red. “I... I couldn't hold on to my key. It... it shocked me.”

Red looked baffled, which was an expression she didn't see often on his face. “I'm afraid I don't understand, Lizzie.”

“And you think I do?” she asked helplessly. She looked down at the fingers of her right hand, which she had just realized smarted. “They're burned,” she said.

“What are burned? Your fingers?” Red crouched down in front of her.

For some reason, she was nervous about him touching her – not because it made her afraid, like it had before, but she worried... “I don't want to hurt you,” she said, scooting away, suddenly nervous. Her voice sounded odd. The words were slurred.

“Lizzie,” Red said, brow furrowed, “are you all right?”

A siren became audible. “I don't want – I can't explain,” she said. She wasn't quite sure why the idea of talking to the police was alarming, but it was. “I can't, Red!”

“You don't have to talk to the police right now, Lizzie. But you haven't done anything wrong,” he said.

“People saw me,” said Liz. She swallowed. Despite her anxiety, she felt her eyes slip shut.

“Lizzie!”

His hands were on her shoulders. She struggled to open her eyes. “Did I... hurt you?” she tried to ask. But now she couldn't even remember why she was asking that.

“No, Lizzie,” he replied. Then she heard him say something about 'picking her up', though it didn't sound like he was talking to her.

After that, things were far too confusing to follow for some time. But at some point, she heard Red talking to her again. “Lizzie, can you wake up for me?”

She wrenched her eyes open. “What?” It looked like she was in a car. Red's car. “I'm tired.”

“I know. Drink this, please. I think you're having some kind of hypoglycemic attack,” said Red, holding out a can of Coke.

“I don't want it,” she said, frowning.

“Lizzie, your blood sugar is low. It could be dangerous. This will help.”

“I'm not diabetic.” She didn't understand why he would be saying that. It didn't make sense.

“Just drink it,” he said, and something about his tone of voice – it was almost pleading – convinced her.

She reached for the can, though it was bizarrely difficult to make her hand work. But when her fingers connected with the object, she winced. “Ow.” She let go. Thankfully Red still hadn't released it.

“Oh, of course,” said Red. He turned away, and a moment later held it out, closer to her face this time. There was a straw in the opening on top.

“I still don't understand,” Liz grumbled, but she took several obedient sips. She hadn't realized how thirsty – or was it hungry? - she was. The Coke tasted good. Soon she had finished it.

“Good,” said Red. “You should feel a little better in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” said Liz. “I hope so.”

The next time she was aware, the car was slowing down. Things seemed a little less blurry and impossible to follow now. She recognized where they were. “I am feeling better, Red,” she said, sitting up from where she had been slumped against the back of the seat. “Are you sure I need to see the doctor?”

“I'm very glad of the improvement, Lizzie, but I'm sure you'd agree that unexplained burns and a low blood sugar episode are concerning,” said Red.

She couldn't argue with that. Nor did she protest when Dembe held out a hand to help her out of the car. She still felt shaky. There was no point in pretending otherwise, although this whole situation was definitely getting on her nerves by this point.

She was grateful at least that Red showed no inclination to take charge in interacting with Dr. Steiner. He waited for her to speak when Dr. Steiner asked what had happened.

Liz cleared her throat. “Honestly, some of it is pretty hazy. But, um, I was accosted by – by a man with a gun. He tried to kidnap me. And then...” She trailed off, recalling how she had felt after she'd started to panic. “Maybe this all actually started this morning. When I accidentally shocked myself unplugging my computer.” She described the pleasant, energizing sensation that had followed – though she left out how she had done it again, purposefully, afterward.

“Interesting,” was Dr. Steiner's remark. “You're right that this wasn't an intended effect of the grounding devices.”

“Lizzie.” Red's eyebrows rose. “You were afraid you would hurt me, when I found you outside your motel. And you said you hadn't gone inside because your key shocked you. Your fingers are burned.”

Liz looked down at her fingers again. Her memories of the moment Gifford had been shot, and the time immediately following it, were not clear. But his words did sound familiar. “Yeah. I – I think I did something. I mean, I don't even know if that makes sense.”

Dr. Steiner, who also looked surprised, asked, “May I see your hand? It's burned, you said?”

Liz stretched it out toward him, and he gently examined it. “This looks more serious than a small jolt. It does look like an electrical burn, though, and with something of this magnitude, no matter what we discover has caused it, it's unlikely that it's the only part of you that was burned. Are you in pain anywhere else?”

“I... I feel achy all over,” she admitted. “But yes, I guess so.” She was tempted to ask him if he had a female technician or nurse who could be the one to see, but then, this man had literally replaced her vital organs – more than once. Modesty was probably ridiculous. For the moment, though, she gestured to the places on her abdomen where the pain was sharpest. “Here, and here, especially.”

At that moment, there was the trill of a cell phone ringing. “It's Agent Ressler,” said Dembe, handing the phone to Red.

“Oh, God, if the police came to my hotel, he probably heard about it. And I'm not there, and my cell phone is... broken.”

Red nodded and then answered. “Donald, how can I help you?”

“If you'd like to sit down, Miss Keen,” said the doctor quietly, gesturing to one of the examination tables.

Liz did so, still looking back at Red.

“She is, actually,” said the man, in a matter-of-fact tone. “She's having a kind of check-up.”

“Let me talk to him,” said Liz. “He's not going to stop asking questions. And he shouldn't have to.” She reached for the phone, winced, and then reached out with her other hand, instead.

Red gave it to her. “Ressler. Sorry, I, uh, broke my phone tonight.”

“Keen, what the hell is going on? I got a call from the Metro PD that someone was shot outside a motel room earlier, that turns out to be yours,” said his voice. “So of course I tried to call you. Your car's still at the motel. The officer said some witnesses reported seeing a woman matching your description outside when the shot was fired. But you're gone and the body has mysteriously disappeared, too.”

“It's... kind of a long story. And we're still trying to put all the pieces together,” said Liz. “But the man who was shot is Gifford, the man who... who Tom brought to...” Despite her best efforts, her throat closed before she could finish that sentence.

“Oh,” said Ressler, now sounding far more concerned than frustrated. “Are you all right?”

She took a deep breath. “He didn't get a chance to do anything. But something happened, that I don't really understand.”

“Something happened.” Ressler sighed. “Okay. Something you need to see the doctor about.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You, um, can come if you want. I don't think we'll know exactly what the story is for a little while, though.”

Her partner was silent for a moment. “Okay,” he said again, finally. “I'll try to keep Metro PD as uninterested in your possible involvement as I can, first.”

“Thanks, Ressler,” she said. “I'm not trying to hide from this. I didn't do anything wrong. A sniper took out Gifford. But I can't explain what I don't understand, which is my part in what all went down.”

“I think I get that,” said Ressler. “I guess I'll call this number again when I'm planning to head over there?”

“Sounds fine. I'm going to hand the phone back to Red,” she said. “The doctor's waiting.” She did so.

Red turned away courteously while she lifted her shirt for Dr. Steiner to examine her. Sure enough, there were two angry red marks on her skin. Liz gasped. “Isn't that right over where the grounding devices are?”

Dr. Steiner nodded, his lips pressed together. “I still can't make much of a guess as to what happened. It seems there was some kind of malfunction, though. I'd like to run another diagnostic.”

When the results were completed, Dr. Steiner sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “These readings are normal. I don't understand.”

Liz frowned, and the heart rate monitor she was still attached to reflected the anxiety that began to well up in her at that. What if they couldn't figure this out, after all? What if there was some malfunction that the scan couldn't find?

“What else can you test?” Red spoke up.

“The next step would be to take a direct look at the devices themselves,” said Dr. Steiner.

Liz swallowed. It made sense, but that didn't mean she had to like it. “Okay,” she said, and it came out in a smaller voice than she'd intended it to.

“I don't expect the procedure to take very long,” said the doctor. “You could expect the sedation to wear off faster than last time.”

“Okay,” she said again, louder this time. “Let's get it over with. I want to know what's going on with me.”

“I'll be in the waiting area, Lizzie,” said Red. “Shall I update Donald, if he arrives before you're awake?”

“Go ahead,” she said.

She was similarly woozy as she had been after the grounding devices had been put in, when she woke up. But this time, before Dr. Steiner offered to get Red or Ressler, he stood until she was focusing on him. “Miss Keen, I know you're still coming off the anesthetic, but I do have a few things I want to tell you before you go home. All right?”

“Um. Yeah,” she said, blinking.

“First of all, you're going to be okay. I have some suggestions for you, for how we can move forward, which I'll send home with you.” He waited until she'd nodded. “The other thing I need you to know, on that note, is that I'll be available all day tomorrow to talk, either by phone or in person, whatever you need.”

Liz wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. But it was hard to think about it – or about anything. “Okay.”

“All right. I'll go tell the others you're awake. Oh, and I'm sending you home with some burn cream for your hand, and a recommendation that you eat a full meal before bed to replace the energy you lost earlier,” said the doctor.

Liz had almost no memory of the trip away from the warehouse – again, as it turned out, not back to her motel but back to Ressler's apartment. “Where's Red?” she asked, blinking rapidly and trying to sit up, as the SUV pulled in to Ressler's parking space.

“He said he had to go do something,” Ressler said, shrugging. “I didn't ask for details. Are you going to be okay to walk?”

“You don't have to carry me, if that's what you mean,” she said. “This is... getting to be kind of a habit. Sorry. Not what I would have chosen.”

“I know,” he said. When he had gotten out and come around to her side, he added, “And you don't have to apologize for it.”

“The doctor didn't even tell me what he saw,” Liz mumbled, as they made their slow way into the building, her arm around him. “Did he tell you?”

“No, Liz,” said Ressler gently. “It's not my business – or Red's – unless you choose to tell us. But I have the information packet he sent home for you.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right.” Maybe he had actually said something like that. “He said I was going to be fine, though. I don't know how.” She sighed. “I don't want to... to be a freak.”

“You're not a freak,” he told her. “No matter what he found tonight.”

“Then what the hell did I do to that guy? He... I flung him off, like – like... I don't know, but I shouldn't have been able to do that,” she argued, dimly aware that her words were slurred, and didn't make a lot of sense, anyway.

“You defended yourself,” said her partner firmly. “That's all that matters right now. We'll figure out the rest later.”

He sounded sure. “I fled a crime scene, though. After you just warned me, today, about crossing lines.”

“From what Reddington told me, 'fled' isn't the right word,” he pointed out. They were at his apartment now, and he halted to dig out his keys, still keeping her securely upright against him. “He said you were barely conscious. You needed medical attention – you needed your doctor.”

Sighing again, Liz gave up arguing. “I hate this day,” was her final remark on the subject.

“Yeah, well, sorry it's not quite over yet. When you wake up, I'm supposed to make sure you eat something,” he informed her. “But you'll be okay. You'll be safe.”

She woke up on the couch later to a delicious aroma filling the apartment. “Ressler? What's that?” she said sleepily, sitting up. This made her put a hand to her head and groan at the dizziness that resulted.

“Hey, you're awake,” said Ressler, coming in from the kitchen. “I was just going to wake you up. Food's ready.”

“You cooked?”

“Yeah, I made spaghetti. The sauce is from a jar, and the meatballs are store-bought, but it should still taste okay.” He smiled.

“It smells amazing,” she said. “How long have I been asleep? What time is it?” The dizziness was wearing off, at least.

“It's almost ten,” said Ressler. “You've been asleep since we got here, at about seven thirty.”

Her eyes widened. “Tell me you ate something while I was asleep.”

“I did,” he assured her. “But I can still join you for a second dinner.”

It was awkward, Liz quickly discovered, to try to use a fork (especially to eat pasta), with several bandaged fingers on her right hand. That factor plus her continued drowsiness made her feel like a child without much dexterity. “God, I'm a mess,” she groaned, setting down the fork and wiping her face with a napkin for what felt like the hundredth time.

“It's my fault. I should have remembered your hand,” said Ressler. “I could have made something easier. Hell, I could have just ordered pizza.”

“It tastes good, though,” said Liz. “And I was really hungry.”

“Then I'm glad you can eat it at all,” he said. He smiled again. “Don't worry, I'm pretty sure there's only a little bit of sauce in your hair.”

She glared. “Great. Thanks.” But she picked up her fork again and managed to get some of the small amount of remaining food on it, and then put the food in her mouth with a minimum of failure. “Okay, that's good enough. I'm going to withdraw before I feel any more like I should be wearing a bib and sitting in a high chair.”

"Good night, Liz," Ressler said, with an amused look toward her.


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't until almost the next afternoon that she read the folder of information from Dr. Steiner. It was Saturday, thankfully. Neither she nor Ressler seemed in a rush to get much accomplished in the morning, although once she had finally roused herself enough to eat breakfast, she decided she wanted to go back to the motel to shower and change.

“Let me know if you need anything,” said Ressler, as he dropped her off.

“Thanks,” she said. “I mean, for everything.”

“You're welcome.”

Once she'd picked up the information packet, she was glad she was alone. Dr. Steiner reported that he had been surprised to see tissue growth around the two grounding devices – natural tissue. He had done a biopsy and discovered, to his further surprise, that it was mostly neural tissue, with some muscle and blood vessels. This level of concentration of nerves wasn't normally found in the abdomen. It was more reminiscent of muscles that were under voluntary control by the body, rather than vital organs whose use is involuntary.

Dr. Steiner went on frankly that he couldn't explain how or why her body had generated new tissue so quickly around equipment that was designed to interact with it only in specified ways. Nor could he explain exactly what it meant. His best guess, however, that would also begin to explain what had happened to her, was that she did now have some sort of voluntary control over the grounding devices – that she in fact had perhaps subconsciously used the extra electricity as a weapon against her attacker. The process must have involved taking energy from her cells, too, which would then explain the sudden, dangerous drop in blood sugar.

Liz had to put down the paper after that statement. She put her hands over her mouth. It was crazy. Impossible. And yet, the doctor's words felt more like a confirmation (and partial explanation) of what she had already known than a wild, ridiculous guess by a baffled scientist. “Oh my God,” she whispered. But there was more to read.

The doctor pointed out that, however much control Liz might have over using the grounding devices, the rest of her body was still not meant to handle that much electricity without harm. And here, he said, was where she needed to consider her options carefully: she could have the devices removed, and thereby risk slight damage to her other cybernetics if she was ever electrocuted more than just mildly; or they could try to remove the natural tissue so that the devices worked like they were supposed to, with no guarantee the same thing wouldn't happen again; or they could try to come up with a way for large charges to move through her body such that she could actually use them to her advantage without damage to herself. Each idea had its own risks, and potential advantages – none more unforeseeable than the final option.

The information – it was almost more of a letter – ended with a reassurance that Dr. Steiner would be available for consultation at any time.

Liz sat in the uncomfortable motel chair for some time once she'd reached the end of the page. This was – She had no words for what this was like, not even in her own thoughts. After a while, she snapped out of her daze enough to reread everything. It didn't help clarify things much. She still couldn't have felt any more bewildered and disbelieving. Suddenly, she recalled what Red had said, back when he had first told her about all this, about comic book villains. She choked on a laugh that turned into a sob. She had never wanted anything like this. No matter what Ressler said, it seemed she might well be stuck as a freak – some _Frankenstein_ -esque, monstrous result of fringe science.

It was while she was still crying from this realization that there was a knock at her door. Automatically, she looked for her phone to see if she'd missed a call before remembering that she didn't currently have one that worked. “Who is it?” she called, once her voice was steady enough.

“It's me, Lizzie,” came Red's voice.

Of course it was him. She sighed. “Just a minute.” At least he'd knocked this time. She wiped her face and blew her nose. It wouldn't fool Red, but she needed to feel slightly more in control of herself.

And indeed, when she opened the door, Red searched her face and immediately asked, “What's wrong?”

“I... I'm fine. What are you doing here, Red?” was her response, as she shut the door behind him.

“I would have called, but I assume you haven't had the chance to get a new phone yet,” he said.

She sat down on her bed. “Uh huh.”

There was a pause, and then he sat down where she had been reading Dr. Steiner's information. He glanced at the folder (which was closed), and then looked back at her. “I had been given to understand that the news wasn't bad,” he said quietly. “Is that not correct?”

“I'm not dying,” she said bluntly. “But this latest _exciting_ development...” She trailed off. “If you came here to talk about this, then I'm sorry, Red. I need a lot more time to wrap my own mind around it before I even think about talking to you.”

Red just nodded. Then he said, “I came to inform you that the police won't be questioning you in regards to the death of Mr. Gifford last night. I spoke with a contact of mine on the force.”

“Spoke with him, or threatened him?” Liz asked, narrowing her eyes.

“No threats were issued,” he said smoothly. “He now knows it was one of my people who fired the kill shot, and is therefore taking steps to close the case quickly.”

Liz stared at him for a minute. Then she sighed and dropped her gaze to her bandaged hand. She wanted to be annoyed with him for taking action, as usual, on something about her life without even talking to her about it beforehand. And that was annoying. But now, on top of that, it made her think about comic book heroes and villains, alter egos, and secret identities. That was not at all comforting.

“Lizzie?”

She had been silent for longer than made sense in response to his last statement. “I shocked him. Gifford. That's why I was burned. That's what Dr. Steiner said,” she told him. Maybe she did need to talk about it, after all. “I deliberately shocked him, which shouldn't be possible. I shouldn't be able to voluntarily control any of my cybernetics.”

His eyes widened. But he didn't look as surprised as she might have guessed. “I see. Mr. Kaplan found significant burns on the man's body. She had guessed they were electrical.”

“You said –” her voice broke, and she gulped and tried again. “You said I was human. Maybe I was before, even when you said it. I've been trying to believe that. I thought I could just...” She huffed a breath. “I thought I could be who I've always thought I was, but with a very specialized condition. But I can't. I can't do that anymore. And the funniest part is, this last thing, I did to myself. It wasn't even one of the choices someone else made for me.” Tears were pouring from her eyes. She stared back down at her lap, trying not to start sobbing.

“Lizzie,” said Red, sounding pained, “can you really only see yourself as something less than human, all because of a few replacement parts? Can you see that your soul is unchanged – that it's perhaps stronger than before, now that you've been through hell and come out the other side?”

Liz looked up. He was perfectly sincere. She didn't know what to do with that. She shook her head. “No, I don't see that. I don't – I feel anything but strong.”

“You're shaken, upset,” said Red. “And you have every right to be. This is uncharted territory. But just because you're off the edge of the map doesn't mean there really are monsters. You may even find something wonderful, instead.”

“Wonderful?” She scoffed, and then sniffed. “Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to be alive, but other than that I can't think of anything wonderful about any of this.”

“I didn't say it had to be right now,” Red pointed out. “But without knowing the specifics of what Dr. Steiner found, I would still encourage you to look for a way to turn it to your advantage. If you can seize onto that, perhaps you'll feel less lost.”

Red departed soon after that, leaving Liz to her thoughts. It didn't take a genius to figure out the implications of his suggestion. He had, in fact, not been specific. But the only one of Liz's options as laid out by Dr. Steiner that could lead to a real advantage for her was the third one – where she made her unlooked-for ability to control the grounding devices into something she could really use. And when she really thought about it, the other two options were unacceptable.

Before she could lose her nerve, she grabbed her keys and gun and headed out. First she needed a new phone. And then she needed to talk to Dr. Steiner about his ideas for that third option.

~~~~~~  
One Week Later

“So, what do you think?” she asked, biting her lip. “Are you ready for this?”

Ressler raised his eyebrows and shook his head faintly. “It's not really my call.”

“I'm aware of that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That's why I'm not asking your permission. I'm just asking what you think.”

“Then, I think... it sounds pretty crazy, but honestly? Also pretty badass.”

Liz smiled and felt her cheeks redden. “Thanks. I'm just hoping I can actually make this work, without freaking out and just being an enormous klutz with it.”

“Well, give yourself time to get used to it,” he suggested. “Even Iron Man was a klutz to start out.”

“God, please, do not make comic book references. I'm having enough trouble believing this is real as it is,” she told him. Her tone was light, but she wasn't sure she had completely disguised her discomfort.

“All right, I'll do my best.” He smiled. “I may slip out with a few references here and there by accident, though. Just warning you now.”

“Don't do it at work, and we're good, I guess,” said Liz.

“So you are going with the full secret identity thing?” Ressler asked. “Sorry, I know that's not _not_ a comic book reference. But I do kind of need to know.”

She sighed. “Just as much as I already do. Dr. Steiner's work is still illegal. And I still need it to live, so, yes, it all still needs to be a secret.”

He nodded. “Okay. I get that.”

“I know,” she told him, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don't worry about it. So, when's the procedure?”

“Dr. Steiner's still testing prototypes,” she said, with a quirk of her eyebrows at how that emphasized the bizarreness of this step she was going to pursue. “He told me he might be ready next week.”

“He can't really test everything perfectly without you, though, can he?” said Ressler. “I mean, unless he has access to another setup with the exact same configuration of, um, cybernetics as you have.”

“No, he just has versions of each part,” Liz confirmed. “Which means, yeah, there's still going to be a lot of testing going on. He has ideas about how to make sure that process is safe.” She was afraid there was no way to avoid that process ending up like something from a superhero movie. At least she could make sure no one would be playing inspirational music in the background.

~~~~~~

Dr. Steiner seemed to be experiencing a similar combination of nervousness and excitement as Liz was, when she came in for the first session. “Our first step would be to see if this prototype even fits you,” he said, picking up something that Liz thought at first was just a bundle of wires.

“Okay,” she said, swallowing.

“The concept is these two wires, which can be attached painlessly to your grounding devices. And that can be done externally.” He held up one end of the bundle, which was, in fact, two wires with odd-looking plugs on the end. “We designed the wires to be light and translucent. Hopefully they won't be uncomfortable under your clothes, or attract too much unwanted attention. From there, the wires connect to these.” He held up the other end.

Liz stepped closer, to take a look at the objects. They seemed to be bracelets. “What do they do?”

“Would you like to try?”

“Sure,” she said, and let him put the two circles of metal around her wrists. With the cords just dangling from them, it felt very awkward, but she would wait before making any final judgement.

“All right,” said Dr. Steiner. “So these look enough like regular bracelets not to stand out too much, I hope. And I can modify them if you'd prefer a different feel, aesthetically. That's not my strong suit. But the important thing is this. If you wouldn't mind holding out your hand?” Once Liz had extended her hand toward him, the doctor pressed down on part of the design carved into it, and there was a click. The bracelet opened, and something metallic came out. “It goes on your hand, like this,” the man explained, helping her fit it over the back of her hand, and then around the backs and tips of each of her fingers. The effect was sort of like a thin, flexible guantlet.

Once both of them were on, Dr. Steiner smiled briefly. “Okay, now, if you don't mind, I can help you attach the wires at the other ends, and we can test the whole thing.”

Again, it was a little awkward as the two of them figured out how to bring the wires into a position where they were both under her clothes and not uncomfortable. Liz had to undo the glove part so she had the dexterity to accomplish it. And then it was time to actually attach them. This was the part Liz was most nervous about, at this point. But Dr. Steiner had said it wouldn't hurt. And without this, the whole thing was pointless.

“Do I just, uh, put these over the right areas?” she asked, hearing the tension in her own voice.

“That's right, and then put a small amount of pressure on each one. They should snap into place,” said the doctor. “And like I said, it should be painless.”

Liz nodded, and then, holding her breath, did as she was directed. There was, in fact, a quick shift into place for each plug. It felt very strange, and not exactly pleasant, but it didn't hurt. She exhaled. Then she straightened and put the glove part of the whole assembly back on each hand. “Are we ready?”

“Well, the equipment should be,” he replied. “I was thinking you could start by trying what got all of this going in the first place – absorbing some outside electricity.”

“That makes sense,” said Liz, although there was still a part of her that protested that none of this made even a tiny amount of sense. She followed him to one of the room's outlets, that she'd never had any reason to notice before. She felt different already, with this apparatus on her, but she had to admit she was excited. “So, should I just – touch...?”

“That would be my suggestion,” the doctor said. “I admit I don't know exactly what's going to happen. But from the tests I've run, if something should go wrong, the voltage from this outlet shouldn't be strong enough to hurt you or damage your cybernetics.”

“Okay.” So she bent down and touched the tip of her finger, in its metallic covering, to the socket. Immediately, there was a warmth that she could feel travel over the back of her hand and then through the wire. There was no pain this time, either in her finger or when the charge reached her torso. There was only the warmth, and then the exhilaration. She was smiling, she realized, as she stood up. “That felt fine. Good, even.”

“Glad to hear it,” said the doctor. “This isn't something I'd want to do every time, or anything, but if it's all right with you, before you try using the electricity, I'd like to measure how much you've absorbed. All it would take is a modified diagnostic, meant to examine only the grounding devices.”

Liz nodded. “That's fine.” She wanted this to be safe, much as she was now also itching to see how well she could actually control this.

So she sat down and let the doctor run his test. It was over in just a minute.

“I'll give you a copy of all the results of this session when we're done,” said the doctor. “For now, let's try testing the other function of the prototype.” He gestured her over to an open area, and suggested she try to hit a metal target he'd placed on the ground, that was connected to an ammeter, so they could measure her output.

“Okay. Just so you know, I have no idea how well I can do this,” she told him. “It was almost instinctive, last time.”

“I understand,” said Dr. Steiner. “No pressure. This is totally new for me, too. I'm not going to judge.”

Liz bit her lip, nodded, and then reached out a hand. She focused, trying to shut out any distracting thoughts about comic book stories, or other fictional things. Then she pictured hitting that target with the energy she could feel waiting. There was an instant of warmth from her torso, and then it was released through her hand. She staggered backward, almost falling.

“Whoa, I've got you,” said Dr. Steiner, catching her arms and helping her stand upright. He let go as soon as she was steady.

Blinking, Liz looked up. “Did I hit it?” She frowned. It seemed darker than it had a minute ago.

“Uh, not so much,” said the doctor. “You hit one of the lights.”

Liz followed his gaze to the ceiling. Sure enough, one of the fluorescent bulbs overhead was now dark, and it shot out a few sparks as she watched. “Oh. Sorry about that,” she said, clearing her throat.

He chuckled. “Not a big deal. How do you feel?”

She considered. “Fine. Definitely not drained or exhausted, like the first time this happened.”

“Good,” he said. “That's the most important thing. The rest, we can hope comes with practice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope an ammeter is actually the kind of equipment I'm thinking of. I'm no scientist or engineer, but my tiny amount of internet research seemed to suggest that's what would make sense, to measure how much charge Liz can produce.


	10. Chapter 10

Practice they did, for another hour. Liz continued to charge herself up and attempt to hit the target. It didn't take too long for her to get that down, and thankfully no other equipment suffered as she practiced. The doctor noted down the measurements each time, until he had another idea. “I was wondering if you were able to control how much energy you can absorb.”

“I don't know,” said Liz. “You sure I'm not going to, uh, exceed my capacity if I try?”

“I can't guarantee with one hundred percent certainty, but you should be fine. And in the unlikely event that you aren't, you're in exactly the right place to be helped,” he pointed out.

She blew out a breath. “Okay, I'll try it.” When she reached for the outlet this time (with her left hand, just for variety), she tried to imagine getting a larger amount of energy – pulling some in, more than would come naturally.

It wasn't just warmth, but a rush of heat that struck her and flowed into her. It still didn't hurt, though; in fact, it felt even better than before. Some helpful instinct reminded her to let go, to stop pulling, after several seconds, and she did. But she didn't hear Dr. Steiner's question – she barely even saw where she was. She felt amazing. Not only was she at peace with everything in the world, but she also felt all but indestructible. This was wonderful.

“Miss Keen!”

Liz blinked. The overwhelming high of the moment faded fractionally, and she turned to look at Dr. Steiner. “Um. Sorry. What did you say?”

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. That, uh, that was... really intense.” She flexed her fingers, still buzzing with it.

“Yes, it looked like it,” the doctor said. “Do you mind if we do that same scan again?”

“That's fine,” said Liz, standing. She still felt a bit like she was floating, but she sat on the examination table and let him attach the sensor so he could do the diagnostic.

He let out a quiet exclamation. “This is amazing. Miss Keen, you just took in seven times as much electricity as you were absorbing earlier. And there don't appear to be any negative side effects.”

“Not negative, exactly,” said Liz, blinking and trying not to smile like she was on something. “I do have to say this might not be a great idea for if I, uh, needed to defend myself or someone else right away, though. It's really... distracting.”

“I see,” he said. “All right. Well, let's see what happens if you hit the target again.”

“Sure,” she said easily, standing to follow him again. She was, at least, able to focus enough once again to send out some of the energy just begging to be released.

A lot of it, as it turned out. After the bolt hit, the ammeter shook back and forth on its stand, and then sparks shot out of it. When Dr. Steiner went to take a closer look, he had to dodge another few sparks first.

“Did I break it?” Liz wondered. Her head was clearer, at least. The pleasant feeling remained, as did some of the sensation that she could take on anything, but she felt less intoxicated.

“Uh...” Dr. Steiner began, then bent closer. “It looks like you might have.”

“Sorry,” she said, wincing.

“No, don't worry about. I told you to do it,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “And I did already have some idea of how much it would take to destroy the machine. So it's not a total loss.”

At that point, the doctor decided that was enough for the evening. He ran one last scan, pronounced her in perfect health, and told her to keep the prototype. “My team is making another, hopefully lighter and more durable. But this one should do the trick for now. And obviously, let me know any issues, or if anything unexpected happens. I think you're doing well, though.”

“Thank you,” said Liz. “I really appreciate all of this. I know it's not exactly what you're used to doing.”

“No, it's not. But it's fascinating. I hope it's been an interesting experience for you, too,” he said.

“It definitely has,” she said. She held out her hand to shake his, and then remembered the glove was still on. She undid it, then shook his hand. “There's no doubt about that.”

Outside, Liz readjusted the bracelets so that they looked more innocuous, then took out her phone. When her partner picked up, she said, “Hey. I'm done for now. It's been quite the evening.”

“All right. You doing okay?” he wanted to know.

“Yeah. Totally fine. Still a little weirded out, that this is my life now. But it all went well.” She got into her car and sat down.

“Glad to hear it,” said Ressler. “I'd totally understand if you were tired, but if you want to come over and talk more about it, I was thinking about ordering another pizza.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Liz. “I'll be there in a few minutes.” Then, before starting the car, she paused. Red would probably appreciate an update, too. All she'd told him before this was that she'd taken his advice about turning the situation to her advantage. So she composed a text that said her session with the doctor had gone well, pressed send, and then headed to Ressler's apartment.

Of course, he wanted to see her new gear right away. With some trepidation, Liz demonstrated the bracelets and the gloves first. “And there's a wire coming off each,” she added, pointing out where they ran down her arms.

“Ah,” said Ressler. “So that the electricity goes safely all the way to where it needs to go.”

“Right.” She started to undo the gloves.

“Wait, I don't get to see you use them?” he said. His expression of boyish excitement faded just slightly. “Uh, I mean, I guess you don't have to, if you'd rather not.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “No, um, I guess I could. I need something safe to shock, though.”

“Oh, yeah. Uh...” He glanced around. “Here. I have the perfect thing.” He went into his bedroom for a minute, and then came out with what looked like an alarm clock. “It broke last week. I was thinking about taking it back and trying to return it, but it's too cheap for it to be worth it, anyway.”

“Okay. You should probably put it on the tile, far away from anything else, just in case,” said Liz. He did so, and then backed up to the other entrance to the dining area. “Here goes,” Liz muttered, and then concentrated on the clock. A second later, a bolt of energy shot out of her hands. For a moment, the digital display lit up, and there was a short burst of static from the speakers. Then both vanished again, with the accompaniment of a few sparks.

“Holy shit,” Ressler breathed. “Liz, that was _awesome_.”

Liz laughed, still a little embarrassed, but also pleased that it had worked just as she had wanted it to. “Thanks, Ressler.”

“And you're totally protected from any burns, or anything?”

“Yep,” she said, with a nod. “This is all still a prototype – Dr. Steiner said his team is still improving the design – but it kept me safe even when I experimented with a lot more electricity than that.”

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. “Well, color me impressed.”

She smiled, then started to undo the gloves again. “So, does that mean you want to, uh, found my fan club?”

He laughed, surprised. “Sure.”

“Or I guess you could be my sidekick. Either way,” she said, putting both gloves away.

“Well, I'm going to have to think about that,” he said, still grinning. “But I have to remind you, you were the one telling me not to make comic book jokes just one short week ago.”

She shrugged, and blew out a breath. “It's real now. I have to deal with it somehow.”

He nodded. “Good. Because I've been coming up with a list of superhero names for you.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “I take it all back. No fan clubs, no sidekicks, and definitely no superhero name.”

“You sure?” Ressler said. “Because I think I came up with some good ones. I mean, 'Elektra' was already taken, or I'd suggest that.”

Liz scoffed. “No way. Besides, she's just an assassin. She doesn't even have any powers.”

He stared at her. “Liz. You're already a comics fan?”

“Sort of. I mostly just like the movies,” said Liz. “But _Elektra_ wasn't very good.”

The doorbell rang just then. “Oh, the pizza,” said Ressler.

They sat down on his couch after Ressler paid the man, and each started to eat. “So who was your favorite superhero, then, Ressler?” Liz asked, after a few minutes of contented silence.

He swallowed, then took a drink of beer. “Oh, I read all the comics for a while. I used to love Superman, but once one of my middle school friends pointed out how boring it is that all the plots of his stories are about kryptonite, I stopped being so into that.”

“And?” asked Liz, taking a sip of her own beer. “Who'd you like, after that?”

“Captain America,” he admitted, with a faint blush.

“Ha!” said Liz. “I knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Ressler. “Laugh it up, Iron Woman.”

She choked on the pizza in her mouth, and then swallowed. “No. Ugh, that sounds like a band name, anyway.”

“Fine, then at least tell me who your favorite is,” said Ressler.

“Wonder Woman,” she admitted, realizing she was probably blushing as much as her partner had. “I mean, she's way cooler even than Captain America – she can fly, for one thing.”

“I thought you didn't read comics. How did you even become a fan?” Ressler countered. 

“Sam showed me the old TV show,” she said. “I wanted to be Lynda Carter almost as much as I wanted to be Wonder Woman.”

He shook his head, though he was grinning. “Well, I guess she is pretty cool. Wonder Woman, that is – I never saw the TV show. But how come she doesn't have a good movie to her name?”

“It's probably because of the outdated, patriarchal attitudes of the people who make movies,” Liz said, giving him a pointed look.

Ressler raised his eyebrows, not disagreeing, then bent forward to grab another slice of pizza. “I mean, I wouldn't complain if they did make a worthwhile movie for her. And anyone who thinks men would be bothered by a movie with a female superhero, honestly? I wonder how much they really understand men.”

“Especially with Wonder Woman's costume being what it is,” Liz put in.

“Hey, on that note, do you think you'd ever –”

“No,” she interrupted.

He gave her an innocent look. “I didn't even get to say what I was thinking!”

“Uh huh,” she said. Still, this whole time at Ressler's apartment had been far less awkward than she might have dreaded so far. They both seemed to be accepting this whole thing, as much as they knew how.

“Do you want to watch something?” Ressler asked, after another pause.

“As long as it's not about superheroes, yeah,” she replied.

“No problem,” he said, turning on his TV and logging in to his Netflix account. “I've got plenty of sports movies in my queue.”

“Great,” she said, and leaned back.

When the movie ended, and the pizza was put away, Liz thought about how it might be time to go home. For the first time in a long while, though, she allowed herself to wonder why 'home' was a crappy motel. Why she was still letting her sham of a marriage define where she lived – or rather, where she didn't live. She glanced around at her partner's apartment. It wasn't luxurious by any means, and it was definitely smaller than where she had lived with Tom, but it was comfortable. She could find somewhere comfortable, without moving into the no-doubt palatial place Reddington had offered her recently. She should.

As she glanced toward the door, Ressler turned to her. “Liz. Before we call it a night, I want to say, I know I've been joking about the superhero thing, but I do realize it's your life. And I know that takes some trust on your part, to include me.”

Liz met his eyes. “Yeah, it does. But I know by now that you're worthy of that trust.” She took a step closer to him. Her heart rate had sped up, though not in an unpleasant way. “Besides, I like spending time with you.”

“You do, huh?” he said softly. “Good. Me, too.”

And then he took a step closer, and put his hand on her face very gently. She closed the gap between them and brought her lips to his. This was not a development she had foreseen happening tonight, though she wasn't complaining. This was good. Very, very good.

By Ressler's eager response to her, it seemed like he felt the same. They gravitated back to the couch, both seeking to get as close to the other as possible. Yet suddenly, once Liz was in his lap, and she felt his hands on her, something changed.

Her increased heart rate suddenly was not pleasant, nor were the other sensations that were all of a sudden crowding in on her. For the first time in a number of weeks, her skin crawled and the feel of someone touching her was threatening, nauseating. She pushed away from Ressler, gasping. He said something to her, but neither the words nor even the tone registered. It was just noise. She scooted back further. It was still hard to catch her breath.

“Hey. Liz. Liz, can you hear me?”

Finally, those words penetrated the cloud of noise and confusion enough for her to partly understand them. She blinked, and became aware that there were tears on her face. “What?” She stared at her partner, realizing that he looked stricken. She could breathe. There was nothing bad happening here. She was fine.

“God, I'm sorry. I – I shouldn't have –”

“No. Ressler, don't apologize. I wanted to. I wanted this. I just...” She trailed off, still catching her breath. Then she put her head in her hands. “I'm the one who should apologize. I guess I'm still... Still not as recovered as I thought.” Not done with being a total basket case, she thought to herself.

“Hey,” he said again. When she looked up, he was frowning. “I don't see you as having any reason to be sorry, either. You think I'm ever going to blame you for what happened to you? I won't. Not ever.”

Liz breathed in again, closing her eyes, before exhaling and looking at him. “I did kind of ruin the moment, though. That was all me.”

He snorted softly. “Yeah, fine, but I'm still not blaming you.” He took his own slow breath. “What do you need, Liz?”

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Liz reached for a napkin from the coffee table and wiped her face. “I don't need anything. Well, maybe some more therapy, but I'll do that later. I mean...” She sighed. “I do want this. I – I kind of thought it was going well, before I freaked out.”

“Okay,” said Ressler. “I thought so, too. That's a good sign, right? That we both thought that?”

She smiled weakly. “Yeah. And I don't want to just go home now, just leave it at that.” She didn't want to be alone, either – not that she was afraid, like before, but it was a depressing prospect.

“Then don't,” he suggested. “We don't have to do anything else. Just stay.”

He seemed sincere. She scrubbed her face with her hands, then stared down at them briefly. “Even though you probably wanted to do something more?”

“I'm a big boy. I can handle it. I'd still like it if you stayed, if you want to.”

“I'd like to,” she said quietly.

“Good,” he said, looking pleased and relieved. “I can take the couch, if that's –”

“Can we, uh,” Liz interrupted, “I mean, would you mind if we just slept next to each other?”

His expression softened again. “Yeah, we can do that. As long as me being close to you isn't going to bother you.”

She stretched out a hand to take his. “No, it should be fine.”

He nodded. “Okay. I could probably find you a clean shirt and some sweatpants. Does that sound all right?”

“Thanks, Ressler,” she said.

The one awkward remaining thing, as they got ready for bed, was that Liz had forgotten about her new gear when she started to change clothes (she'd taken the bathroom for that purpose). That meant that when she pulled off her shirt, the wires attached to her bracelets got tangled in the sleeves. “Ow,” she muttered to herself, as the motion required to disentangle it all tugged against where the wires were plugged in. Then she scoffed at herself. “Some superhero. Can't even take off my clothes without hurting myself.”

So she reached down and detached the plugs. Then she removed the whole apparatus and set it aside carefully. After several hours, it actually felt odd not to have it on. She supposed that was a decent sign for the future, since she'd presumably be wearing it more often than not.

Since Ressler took a shorter time getting ready for bed than she did, he was already under the covers when she was done. “Hey,” he said, sleepy. “Which side do you want?”

“You're fine where you are,” she told him, and climbed in beside him. Then she turned to face him, lying on her side. “I really am sorry for freaking out earlier. Even if it's not my fault, I liked the way things were going... until whatever it was that happened in my brain.”

She saw him smile in the semidarkness. “I did, too. I'm glad we're on the same page. But I'm fine with taking it slow, too.”

She nodded, then yawned. “'Kay. Good night, Ressler.”

“Good night, Liz.” He turned to switch off the lamp beside the bed, and then turned back to face her.

She could barely see him at all now, of course, but it was still very good to know he was there.


	11. Chapter 11

~~~~~~

An unfamiliar alarm sound woke Liz early the next morning. As soon as she was conscious, she also realized that there was an arm draped across her shoulders. Ressler. She remembered where she was, and everything that had happened. And, thankfully, this much physical contact with her partner didn't seem to be causing the same kind of extreme reaction she'd had the previous night.

It took about a minute of the alarm's insistent beep for Ressler to stir. He grumbled something, and shifted positions to turn it off. Then he froze. “Liz?”

“Yeah?” she said. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I just kind of forgot how you'd ended up here, for a moment.”

She chuckled. “What time is it, anyway?” It seemed way too early.

“That was my 5:30 alarm, in case I want to go for a run before I shower.”

“Isn't it Saturday?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. Of course he was the kind of person who would habitually get up at 5:30 in the morning.

“Yeah. All the best advice for a good sleep is to wake up at the same time every morning, even on the weekends,” he explained.

“Ugh,” was her response. “Then you go right ahead with that, Captain America. I'm going back to sleep now.”

He laughed lightly. “Now, how did I guess you weren't a morning person?”

She pulled the blanket up around herself. “Hmph. This isn't the first time I've slept over at your place.”

“Yeah, well, some of the other times, you were drugged,” he pointed out. “Anyway, I'm fine with getting a little more sleep this morning, too.”

“Good,” Liz mumbled, already half-asleep.

The next time Liz woke up, it was slowly and gradually, without any alarm. And this time, it was her arm that was stretched out and on top of Ressler. She didn't move right away. This was more content and truly relaxed than she'd felt in a while – and they hadn't even actually 'slept together' yet.

Liz knew there was a smile on her face at that. There was a 'yet'. And maybe that time was a little ways off right now, but even the possible delay couldn't cancel the sweetness of that thought.

“What are you smiling about?” Ressler said, his voice rough, eyelids flickering open.

“You,” she said simply. “Us.”

“Mmm,” he replied. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah.” She moved her left arm so she could bring it to touch his face. Of course there was stubble there now, but she still very much enjoyed the fact that she could do this.

His eyes opening wider, he reached out to do the same to her. “Good morning. Again.”

She scooted closer and gave him a quick kiss, just because she wanted to. “'Morning.”

He hummed again. “I could get used to waking up to this.”

“Even though I made you change your sleep schedule?” she asked, shifting so she could stretch her arms.

He huffed. “Yeah, even with that.” Then he sat up. “You want some breakfast? I think I still have some bagels left. Or I guess I might have pancake mix somewhere.”

Liz grimaced. “No pancakes. But bagels sound fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don't like pancakes?”

“Not a big fan, no,” she said, trying not to sound too clipped. But she didn't want to talk about Tom.

Maybe he'd gotten the hint that the story behind that wasn't a fun one. He nodded. “Bagels are quicker, anyway.”

~~~~~~

It was the very next work day that the task force was informed that Raymond Reddington had been captured by the CIA in Hong Kong. Some part of Liz was taken aback by how much that distressed her. Even as she agreed with Ressler's assessment that this had to be part of Reddington's plan, she couldn't stop worrying, either. And the description of the CIA black site where he was allegedly being sent didn't help any.

So it was with great relief that she saw the secret platform appear in front of them, from inside the helicopter that transported them to the coordinates. They were not going to let him disappear into the depths of CIA custody, never to be seen again. The FBI wasn't, and she, personally, refused to do so either.

Naturally, things didn't go as planned. Suddenly, the rest of her team was at risk, too. This day was getting worse and worse. She refused to leave Ressler or Samar in peril, even though Red wanted her to leave as soon as possible. At least Red's plan to counter Luther Braxton's stratagem seemed to start successfully enough.

Being that it was an extremely dangerous plan to begin with, though, it wasn't shocking that she and Red would both end up flung through the air when the boiler room exploded. However, when she found Red unconscious and with no immediately noticeable heartbeat, that made Liz feel like she had been plunged into ice. This was not happening. Red was not supposed to be seriously injured. He just wasn't.

She started to do chest compressions until it came over her that she could do better. Quickly, Liz put on her gloves and then focused. She didn't exactly know how much charge a defibrillator used, but it couldn't be too strong or she risked making things worse for him. So, with a whispered, “I hope this works,” she put one hand over his chest and concentrated on emitting a low-level pulse. His body twitched, but nothing happened. “Breathe, Reddington,” she commanded, still keeping her voice quiet, and increased the amount of electricity.

This time, the resulting spasm was more pronounced, and a second later he coughed and took in an audible breath. “Lizzie?”

Just then, she could hear shouts approaching. “Red, Braxton's men are almost here. You should hide until you're ready to face them.”

“Lizzie, you can't let Braxton take you,” he said urgently, coughing again.

“I won't,” she said. He'd already broadly hinted at how dangerous this Fulcrum file was, and that she supposedly had some tie to it. She hadn't had a chance to try to get any details out of him about it. She stood, then noticed the sparks spraying from the various electrical equipment that had been damaged in the explosion. As the sounds of Braxton's men got closer, Liz concentrated and absorbed some of that available charge. She would not go down easy, that was for sure.

Reddington, whom she had heard begin to get to his feet, gasped behind her as the electricity flowed in through her hands. She'd forgotten that he didn't know exactly what she and Dr. Steiner had worked out, nor had he had the chance to see her new trick. “Lizzie. Are you sure you're ready for this?”

She didn't turn to look at him. “I'm sure.” She could feel that she had just below the amount of energy that would cause that intoxication she'd felt before. Hopefully, that would be plenty.

“You! Hands up!” shouted the first of the men, coming around the corner.

Liz hoped Reddington was hidden, unless he'd come up with a good way to contribute here. She held her hands up, but still in front of her. “I'm unarmed,” she said. This was going to be more complicated than anything she'd tried before. There were multiple targets here. She also didn't necessarily want to kill them all – if they could be arrested, that would be better.

Still, there was no other option. If she submitted here, there was no telling what would happen to her – or Red, or Ressler, or Samar. So once the men all seemed to be in view, Liz focused and released her electricity.

The resulting flash of light and loud crack was almost as overwhelming as the explosion had been a minute ago. Liz herself staggered back, even though she had known to expect a kind of recoil effect. But when she could see again, to her relief, every single one of Braxton's men was on the ground. None were moving.

Flexing her fingers, Liz went forward cautiously. Even up close, however, there was no sign of movement. In fact, unless she was mistaken, there wasn't any sign that any of them were breathing, either. “Damn it,” she muttered quietly.

“Lizzie?” She turned, and saw Reddington come out from a piece of the destroyed boiler room's wall. “Lizzie, are you all right?”

She sighed. “I'm fine. But I think they're all dead.”

“Since they were intending to either kill or capture you for very nefarious purposes, I don't think that's any cause for regret,” said Red. “That was very impressive, by the way. I'd be fascinated to know the details of how this works for you.”

“It's not that I'm feeling remorse,” she said. And she wasn't – they were armed criminals who had been pointing weapons in her face. “But is Braxton one of these guys? Because we could have at least figured out who hired him, if the FBI had been able to take him in.”

Red came to stand by her. His color was looking better, and he walked with his usual confidence. “Yes, he is,” he said, pointing to one of the men. “But don't worry about that, either, Lizzie. I'm ninety-nine percent sure I already know who hired him.”

“Who?”

“The leader of the group that stands to lose the most if the information contained within the Fulcrum is released,” said Red. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he continued. “Lizzie, as much as I greatly appreciate your actions here, and I'd like to relieve some of your curiosity, the fact that Braxton is dead doesn't mean we're out of danger. In fact, I suggest we find your team and signal for extraction as soon as possible.”

He sounded very sure. “Fine. Where would they have taken the people they captured?”

They made their way quickly across the complex. They had each taken weapons off the dead men, though Liz also hadn't removed her gloves. The material was flexible enough for her to be able still use a gun if she so chose – and more options seemed better.

Just as they were approaching the area Red had thought was likely, they started to hear movement, gunshots, and shouting. “What's going on?”

“That sounds like the making of a prison riot,” Red said grimly. “I have no wish to denigrate your abilities, Lizzie, but I'd rather avoid testing them against that for the moment, until it becomes necessary.”

Liz raised her eyebrows at the compliment she'd heard in there. “Yeah. But if that's the only way to get to my friends...” Suddenly, a much louder sound became audible over everything. It was an increasing roar. “What-?” Liz started to say, and then the impact threw them both off their feet once more.

“Lizzie. Lizzie, can you hear me?”

She blinked, and groaned. Her head ached. “I think I hit my head on something.”

“Can you stand?” She saw that he was offering her his hand.

Taking it in her own (still gloved), she stood carefully. “Still hurts, but not a lot worse.”

“Reddington! Keen!” That was Ressler's voice. She turned. “Are you two all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” said Liz. To see him, seemingly unhurt, was a huge relief. But he had Samar's arm over his shoulder, supporting her. There was significant bruising on the other woman's neck. She shuddered as she imagined how that had happened. “What about you two?”

“We'll make it,” said Samar, her voice raspier than usual but quite audible. “As long as we get out of here before whoever fired missiles at us decides to try again.”

“An excellent idea,” said Reddington. “We need to find the nearest radio and send out a message.”

“Liz, what is that on your hands?” Samar asked suddenly.

Liz winced internally. This was not a question she was prepared to answer. “Uh...”

“Does it have something to do with the extra electrical energy you're also carrying?” the woman went on.

Liz stared at her. How in the world could she know that?

“Can we continue this conversation on the way to the control room?” Red suggested pleasantly. “Perhaps you'd like to explain that observation, Agent Navabi.”

Samar's eyes narrowed, but then she nodded. “Fine. I have a very minor healing Gift. It's not enough to do much besides keep myself from bleeding to death in the event of serious injury, or detect health-related issues in others. This isn't the first time I've noticed an excess of electricity in you, Liz.”

Liz flashed to the morning before they had gone after Dr. James Covington. She nodded. “I remember.”

“It seems this is a day for revelations,” said Reddington.

Just then, a door burst open in the hallway ahead of them. “There you are! You Feds aren't getting away so easy!” The bearded man in front of them was aiming a gun at their group.

Liz quickly judged that she had the clearest line of sight, especially since Ressler and Samar's arms were otherwise occupied keeping Samar upright. She raised her own hand and fired a bolt of electricity at him. It struck him square in the chest and he collapsed. “The gloves are for that,” she said.

Samar's eyes were wide when she looked at her friend. “I... see. As is the electricity, then?”

“Yep,” said Liz. “You're not the only one with abilities, although I wasn't born with mine.”

They made their way toward the control room. Reddington took out the one other man who accosted them on the way, and after that they seemed to be left alone. Of course, when they arrived, they found that the control room had been partly destroyed in some combination of the days' events, leaving only a few walkie-talkies still usable.

Red knew how to jury-rig a setup that would allow them to broadcast at least an SOS using the walkie-talkies, however. With a little power boost from Liz, he judged that authorities would be able to pick it up. By the time the Coast Guard showed up, Liz had put her gloves away. For her part, though still obviously hurt, Samar was walking without help. All in all, especially with how much anxiety she'd felt about it to begin with, Liz felt like the whole incident could have turned out a lot worse.

On the way back to the mainland, the helicopter loud enough to prevent conversation, Liz mused about what Red had said to her in the boiler room. Not only had he made it out that she could have the key to this shadowy cabal's downfall, but that story he had told about the cave fish... He still had never explained why he cared about her so much. She resolved not to let him off the hook on either issue.

Reddington's plans didn't quite line up with Liz's, of course. He announced when they landed that he had an appointment (as he called it) with the people who'd hired Luther Braxton. Liz couldn't really argue with that. Still, she told herself that she and Red were going to have a serious conversation soon.

The three FBI agents debriefed just the most important points back at the Post Office. Cooper wasn't interested in prolonging an already very difficult day. Aram, Liz saw, gave Samar an especially enthusiastic greeting – though he was clearly glad to see each of them.

“Can I speak to the two of you for a moment?” Samar asked, a little while later, as they all started to wrap up. She came into their office and closed the door. “It doesn't have to be now, and I don't want to stick my nose in your business, Liz, but at some point I'd like to learn more about this ability of yours. Especially since I noticed that both Ressler and Reddington weren't surprised by your display.”

“That's fair,” she said. “You've probably guessed that I'm not making this a widely-known thing, still. I have good reasons for that.”

Samar nodded. “All right. Would after work tomorrow be a possibility?”

Liz didn't know when she'd be able to meet with Reddington, but since there was no guarantee that time would have worked for her own plans, she exchanged looks with Ressler. “It's fine by me.”

“I probably don't even have to be there,” he pointed out.

“I suppose not, but in the spirit of a friendly dinner between colleagues, you should,” said Samar. “I was hoping it would be a pleasant time, so I don't plan to spend the whole time asking Liz questions.”

“I sure hope not,” said Liz. “But yeah, you should come, Ressler.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Good, then it's settled. Have a good evening, both of you,” said Samar. She opened the door and left.

“And if she doesn't realize that we're a couple by the end of tomorrow evening, I'll be surprised,” said Liz quietly, standing up and grabbing her bag.

“You think?” Ressler asked. He didn't sound too alarmed.

“Well, I guess I'm not sure, but I wasn't planning to be all that secretive about us,” she said. “Are you all right with that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I'm not thinking we should send out an office bulletin, or anything, but I don't want to hide.”

“Good,” she said, smiling.

As they left, Ressler said, “So, you want to get dinner?”

“Yeah, I could eat,” she said. The energy she'd absorbed on that platform today wasn't depleted, but that didn't mean she wasn't hungry.

At a nearby pub that each of them had been to before, they ordered and then took advantage of the noisy atmosphere to discuss the day in relative private. “How is it that Braxton and his men were so much of a non-issue after the explosion?” Ressler wanted to know. “Did they all get caught in it, or something?”

“No,” said Liz. “But, uh, they did all find something unexpected when they came to look for Reddington and me.”

“Ah,” said Ressler, understanding dawning. “Something... _shocking_ , you could say?”

She snorted, reaching to take a sip of her drink. “Oh my God. Can we not do puns?”

He didn't look all that contrite. “Sorry. I'm just trying to picture you taking down a bunch of bad guys at once with your electricity. That's what you did, right?”

She nodded. “It was pretty cool, I will admit.”

Their burgers were delivered then, and they paused to dig in. Liz thought about telling her partner what she'd learned about this Fulcrum and the people who wanted it at all costs. On the other hand, if it was as dangerous as Red made it sound, maybe she shouldn't put Ressler at risk. She didn't like the idea of hiding something from him, though. But no one said she had to tell him right away, she supposed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - I've been trying to make sure this section is cohesive. There's a lot of talking in this fic, I've realized. Hopefully that's all right! There is more action planned for the future.

~~~~~~

To her surprise, Reddington called her later that evening. She was just about to leave her motel with an overnight bag, headed for Ressler's apartment. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” Red asked, once she'd answered.

“Uh... I was just about to get in the car, in a minute,” said Liz.

“I see. Then I'll be brief. First, I wanted to make sure you're not suffering any ill effects from the day. Is your head all right?”

Liz rolled her eyes at his solicitousness. “It's fine. Doesn't hurt anymore. I could ask if you're all right, too, though.”

There was a faint pause. “I'm fine, thank you. And the use of your new equipment hasn't had any unpleasant side-effects?”

She sighed. “I'd see the doctor if I needed to.”

“Of course. While we're on that subject, however, I also wanted to congratulate you. Once the FBI arrived on that rig, I feared the whole situation was going to massively unravel. Instead, not only did you save my life, but you ended up almost singlehandedly ensuring your own safety as well as that of your team.” Reddington's voice was warm. “Well done. I'm not easily impressed, but I was today.”

Liz blinked. “Um. Thanks.”

“You're quite welcome.” Now he sounded thoughtful. “Seeing how smoothly and capably you used this latest change to your life... Well. You have places to be, but there's more to be said on the subject of what we discussed in the boiler room. I won't speak of it over the phone. Suffice it to say, I've realized that your continued safety would now be best assured if I fill in more of the details of this situation that the Fulcrum places you in.”

For a moment, Liz didn't believe her ears. She had two reactions, once she realized he had actually said those words: one was vindication, that her waiting was finally about to pay off. The second was anger. Did she really have to _earn_ information that was vital to her own life? Part of her wanted to launch into a tirade on that very subject. She cleared her throat. “When are you thinking would be good, for letting me in on this?” Even without the tirade, she was still testy.

He didn't seem to notice, though. As ever. “How about tomorrow?”

She cursed to herself. Of course. “Well, I'm already meeting Samar for dinner tomorrow, so she can quiz me about what she saw today.”

“Ah, yes. It wasn't likely that she would simply forget about this revelation,” said Red.

“Yeah. But I guess after dinner might work,” Liz suggested. As frustrated as she was, she wasn't going to miss this chance.

“Then I'll call you,” said Red. “Have a good night, Lizzie.”

So it was in a rather distracted frame of mind that Liz arrived at Ressler's place. She still wasn't even sure if she was generally pleased, or whether she thought Reddington had been condescending in his comments to her. Since one of his default modes was 'smug', it was hard to avoid that interpretation of his part of their conversation. Though she did also believe that he genuinely cared about her. The question, she supposed, was how much respect that care included.

“You look serious, Liz,” Ressler observed as she came in.

She tried for a smile. “Sorry. Red called me before I left. I haven't figured out what he was getting at yet.”

Ressler raised his eyebrows, then nodded. “He does love to hang on to that air of mystery.”

“'Mystery' is one word for it,” Liz muttered.

Her partner scoffed. Then he sat down on the couch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah. I don't want to be irritated all evening,” she said, sitting down next to him.

“I support that,” he said.

She sighed, and then leaned over, putting her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. Sometimes I forget that I'm not the only one trying to figure out what the hell he's doing with me, with – with all of us, and the Blacklist.”

He didn't answer immediately, though he did put his arm around her. When he did speak, it was to say, “Let me know if this bothers you.”

She turned her head, still keeping it leaning on him. “No. That feels good.”

And in fact, that amount of contact didn't seem to bother her for the rest of the night, either. By unspoken agreement, neither of them attempted to go farther than that. Whether because of their restraint, or because she felt more relaxed overall, when they got ready for bed, Liz was comfortable enough not to find it necessary to change in a separate room from him. This time, she even remembered to unplug the wires before she took off her shirt. Unfortunately for her own feeling of competence, though, the wires still got tangled in her sleeves. Since they were attached to her bracelets, it was hard for them not to.

Shaking her head, she waited until she'd put on her nightshirt to remove the wires from where they were still inside the shirt she'd taken off. When she turned, she saw that Ressler was watching her. “I'm still working out the kinks, I guess,” she said, blushing faintly. “It's easier to put on than it is to take off.”

He nodded. “It does look like it would be kind of complicated.” Then he made as if to speak again, before hesitating.

“What?” she said, setting the whole thing down carefully on top of his dresser.

“It doesn't hurt, where it attaches?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “There's a kind of a pressure, when I put it on and take it off, but it doesn't hurt.”

“Good. I mean, that would suck, since this whole thing was supposed to be better for you.”

“Yeah.” She laughed a little. “You know, I may not want a superhero name, but I do kind of want to call this ensemble something. Otherwise I'm stuck with just referring to the gloves, or the wires, or the bracelets.”

He looked thoughtful as he turned off the room's main light. “Hmm. So you're accepting suggestions?”

She climbed into bed. “I guess. I still have veto power, though.”

“Of course.”

“I already thought of referring to it as my 'equipment', but that is just a little too loaded,” she said, lying down.

He snorted. “Yeah, I'd vote against that one.”

Liz watched him get into bed next to her. “Ressler, can we... Do you mind if we see what happens, if you just hold me?”

He paused in the act of turning off the bedside lamp, instead facing her. “Are you sure you're okay for that? Because that sounds really nice, but only if you're okay.”

“I'm pretty sure I'll be fine. I'd let you know the moment anything is too much.” He turned off the light, and then looked at her again. She swallowed. If she dwelled much more on how understanding and sweet he was being, she'd start crying, which would probably convince him even lying in the same bed was beyond her ability to handle. “Uh, I think we'd better face each other. I need to be able to see you, at least a little.”

“Sure,” said Ressler.

A minute later, she was lying with her head mostly on his chest, and his arms very loosely around her. “So is this all right?” he asked quietly.

“Mmhmm,” she said, her eyes already partly closed. There was not a hint of panic in her mind. She just felt safe.

“Good,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, hey, I just got an idea.”

Her eyes opened. “For what?”

“We could call it your cape,” he said.

“My –” And then she got it, and giggled. “Cape, huh? I think I like it.”

“Well, all right then,” he said.

The sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing lulled her to sleep easily.

~~~~~~

She and Ressler did at least specifically arrive at the restaurant at different times. Samar had picked the spot – an out-of-the-way little Italian place. They were alone in their corner of the room, which made it ideal for talking about something private. “All right. So, how is it that you're able to do what I saw?” was Samar's first question.

“It's a new thing,” Liz said. “But, uh, if I tell you my father used to do unregulated medical research into artificial organs and their interface with organic tissue, and that he saved my life when I was a little girl through what he knew, does that help explain it?”

Samar's eyes widened. “That's certainly a good start. Can I ask to see the gloves you were wearing? Do you have them with you?”

After making sure no one was looking, Liz opened her right bracelet and put on the glove. Then she showed where the wire attached to the bracelet. “It runs all the way to, uh, where the electricity is stored.” She took off the glove again and put it away after Samar had gotten a look – just in time, as their waitress returned with their drinks at that moment.

“I see,” said her friend, taking a sip. “But you control it.”

"That's right."

Samar also wanted to know when Ressler had found out, as well, and Reddington. That latter question led to the revelation that the whole thing had been a secret from Liz herself for a long while.

After Liz gave a brief explanation for that, Ressler took her hand under the table. She smiled at him briefly, reassuring. There was bitterness that came from having facts kept from her that were so foundational about her own self. It was real, and it wouldn't go away anytime soon. Yet in the relatively short time she had known the truth about herself, she had already moved from total denial and fear to a state that was close enough to acceptance that she had taken the direction of her unconventional treatment into her own hands and made something new from it. By now, she was sure that, though she wasn't quite okay yet, she would be someday soon. She squeezed Ressler's hand, hoping to communicate at least some of that to him.

Their food arrived at that point, and each of them busied themselves with eating for a few minutes. “Hey, thanks for recommending this place, by the way,” Liz said, after a while. “This is fantastic.”

“You're welcome,” said Samar. “I appreciate your willingness to answer my questions about this. You could have refused, and I'd have nothing to complain about.”

Liz took another bite of her pasta, swallowed, and pondered her response. “Well, the cat was kind of out of the bag already.”

Samar chuckled. “I suppose it was. It's a shame you can't use that secret weapon more often without losing the 'secret' part. I'm sure you've already discovered or thought about many ways it could come in handy.”

Nodding, Liz finished her drink. “Oh, yeah.” She knew she was blushing slightly. Her smirk, on the other hand, she didn't bother to put in the effort to erase. It was cool. There was no question.

“I can't get her to agree on a name for her superhero alter ego, though,” Ressler put in.

Liz rolled her eyes. “Who has time for vigilante crime fighting these days, anyway?”

Smiling, Samar shook her head. “Seriously, though, your secret is safe with me. And I'd prefer if you kept what I told you about my Gift between us, as well. I find that people have great expectations of those with healing Gifts, and as I said, mine is quite limited. I'd rather save everyone the hassle.”

“Of course,” said Liz, and Ressler agreed.

“I would suggest that you inform Cooper about your relationship, though,” Samar added. “Since you aren't trying very hard for secrecy there. At least I hope that's the case.”

Liz met her partner's eyes for a moment before answering Samar. “No, you're right about that. I guess it would be good if we told him soon.” She was still surprised that Reddington hadn't commented on this development yet. There was no point even pretending he wouldn't know.

“For what it's worth, I'm happy for you two.”

“Thank you,” said Ressler. He took Liz's hand again, this time not under the table.


	13. Chapter 13

~~~~~~

 

She met Reddington at his latest house, a half hour after dinner with Samar and Ressler (having told Ressler not to bother waiting up). At least that had gone well. She had no idea what to expect of this meeting. Whenever she'd tried to imagine why she wasn't allowed to know about her past – especially once she knew about her own cybernetics, and about Tom – all the ideas that came to mind were too terrible to ponder. And of course she had no guarantee of what Red would even actually choose to share with her.

So it was with caution that she joined Red in the spacious sitting room of the house. She sat across from him, simply meeting his eyes for a full minute. “What are we doing here, Reddington?” she asked finally, when the silence began to bother her.

He smiled faintly. “I take it Agent Navabi's curiosity was satisfied?”

Liz sighed. “She wasn't too pushy, and I didn't tell her the whole story. She knows that, um, some of my organs are cybernetic, though.”

Red nodded. “I suppose she might have even been able to discover that herself, with her Gift, had you not informed her.”

The thought had occurred to Liz. “Yeah.”

“Did she also find out about you and Donald?” Red asked, tone mild.

Liz clenched her jaw, then restrained herself from sighing again. “Look, if all you wanted to do was to ask me questions, too, I'd rather go home.”

There was a glint in his eye for a moment. “I promise I do have something important to share with you, Lizzie. Before we begin, however, let me simply say that I wish you and your partner every happiness. He's a decent man, and certainly trustworthy, though I do find him lacking in finesse sometimes. Headstrong, too, but then, that's rather endearing.”

She stared at him. His fond tone of voice sounded genuine. Then she shook her head. She was not going to have a conversation with this man about this subject. Not now, and given the way his last interference in her personal life had gone, preferably not ever. “Uh huh. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, can we get to the point?”

Reddington just nodded again. “Of course. You recall that I told you about the Fulcrum, when we were back on that rig.” He waited for her acknowledgement, then went on, “I also told you that Braxton and his men couldn't find it without you. No doubt you're still puzzled about this.”

“You could say that,” said Liz, clasping her hands together. “I don't remember anything that's – that's anything to do with blackmail about anyone.”

“No,” said Red. His gaze became distant. “Your memories of your childhood are very minimal, aren't they, Lizzie?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Until Sam, yes.” Then she swallowed. Of course, some of her memories of the time after Sam had taken her in were apparently inaccurate, too. That hadn't stopped hurting.

He sighed. “Even if you never remember anything concrete about the Fulcrum, I fear the time is approaching when the Cabal will target you, specifically.”

“Why?” she asked, her throat now dry. “Do they know I – I'm supposed to know something about this thing? How would they even know anything about me?”

“The only thing I expect they know at this point is that I made speaking with you my condition for working with the FBI,” said Red. “I was aware when I surrendered myself that this would bring you into the spotlight, but I had very little in the way of other options. Still, the safeguards Sam and I created to prevent anyone from discovering your past have held thus far.”

Liz blinked, and rubbed her hands across her face. “Let me guess: these safeguards include not having told me anything? Neither of you?”

Red gave her another nod. “By my judgement, your complete lack of knowledge of these things would still be the best case scenario for your safety. But that is a state which you're already beyond. And you've risen to the challenges of this past year more than I could have dreamed.”

He sounded so proud of her. And the thing was, Liz didn't mind that – even during the times she had been angriest with him, it had been hard for her to mind his obvious affection, confusing as it was. At least she knew why she was proud of herself, though. She determined to focus on that. “Okay.”

“So, it seems both foolish and unnecessarily cruel to pretend you couldn't handle another large and important truth. It's time you knew about your parents, before that information is used as a weapon against you,” said Red. He did not sound calm, but he did look and sound very serious.

Liz stopped breathing. She forced herself to inhale only when she realized that she was starting to feel light-headed. “You knew them?”

“I did. I met your mother on a mission. Well, at the end of a mission, to be exact. We were on the same flight into Baltimore. Seatmates. We exchanged pleasantries, nothing more. It wasn't until a month later that I learned that the woman I'd bumped into was, in fact, one of the most renowned – or infamous, depending on your perspective – operatives of the KGB, Katarina Rostova.”

Liz was finding it hard to breathe again. “My mother was a Russian spy?” she finally gasped out.

“Yes,” said Red gently. “A very skilled one. And her meeting with me was anything but coincidence.”

“You were her target,” Liz said flatly. “Was she supposed to seduce you?” Unbidden, the image of a young Red in a bedroom with an unfamiliar woman, a woman she should recognize but couldn't, came to mind. Her stomach turned.

“Nothing so simple,” Red replied. “The next time we crossed paths, she did try. But by then the US government was already alert to Russia's plans to gather intel on the mission I was attached to. And it didn't take her long at all to figure out I was onto her.”

This all seemed impossible to absorb. It couldn't be true. It was all so very far away from real life. “And what did she do then?”

“She got away,” said Red. “She managed to steal some classified intel before she did, as well.” He shook his head. “To make a long story slightly shorter, we continued to clash for several months. It's thanks to her that I have this.” He tapped his right forearm. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago that he had shown her his replacement bone.

“You can't tell me what your actual mission was? It's not like you care that it's probably still classified,” said Liz. Some part of her was vaguely horrified that her mother had seriously injured him.

He laughed. “You're right that this secret's designation as classified is not why I care about keeping it.” Then he grew solemn again. “This was the Cold War, Lizzie. The US and Russia were trying desperately to develop any and all technologies that would give them the advantage over their counterparts. And even though Sam kept his business as private as he could, some whispers did get out. When these whispers reached the ears of the Russians, they naturally assumed that it was some top-secret DOD super-soldier project.”

“Wait, but if Sam wasn't government funded, then how was this your mission?” Liz wanted to know.

“I made it my mission, once I knew that Russia's interest was spurring a counter-investigation by the Americans,” Red told her. “I volunteered to help track this rumored scientist down and 'protect' him from the Russians. In a way, that's when I became a traitor, I suppose. I was a double agent, working for Naval Intelligence and on behalf of one of my dearest friends.”

Liz found that there were tears on her cheeks, though she didn't remember starting to cry. “Red, Sam never did get caught, did he? You did protect him.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I made things more dangerous for him,” said Red. “It's true that his work has never been exploited to the extent that he dreaded – by either enemies of his government, or those who were supposed to be on his side.” Then he sighed. “But I couldn't keep the Russians away without help. I didn't have that kind of reach. Eventually, he and I had to sit down and figure out what kind of deal we could strike with the relevant players in the US government.”

Her mind whirling, Liz tried to follow all the threads of this story. She knew she simply couldn't keep track of it all at this moment – there was too much. She wiped her face. “What deal?” she asked, settling on one of the questions that had begun to spring up.

“Sam suggested that he would offer some of his services to the DOD through one contact person, pretending that small amount was all he had to offer. I didn't like it. I couldn't see how he would be able to keep any of his work private with the government breathing down his neck. But I also knew time was running out,” said Red. “That's when Katarina contacted me through an intermediary and suggested a meeting. She had a deal of her own to propose.”

Liz sniffed. “For access to Sam's work?”

“I thought it would be. But I set the meeting, either way. I was prepared to take her out, if need be. At least that would show the Navy that I was making progress.” His smile this time was more fond, directed at Liz. “When I saw her, though, I knew I wouldn't be killing her. She was several months pregnant. In fact, she'd probably been pregnant for nearly as long as we'd been acquainted.”

Again, for perhaps the millionth time in her life, Liz tried to imagine what her mother would have looked like. The mental picture that she'd had for years didn't fit with a spy, and definitely didn't fit with a Russian spy making deals with her enemy. “So what did she want, if it wasn't Sam's work?” Liz's voice was quiet, aching.

“Safety for her child,” said Red. “She was willing to trade a very large amount of intel for the price of ensuring that the baby wouldn't be involved in the chaos of her life. She had decided that the best chance for that outcome was if she defected. I agreed with her assessment. And when she showed me a sample of her intel, I agreed that it would certainly pay for a new life for her and her child. It was Katarina Rostova who gathered what became the basis for the Fulcrum.”

Red paused, but Liz couldn't come up with any kind of response to that. She couldn't even speak. She'd always dreamed that her mother was some kind of hero. Now, in the space of a few minutes, she'd learned that the woman had actually been an enemy of the government Liz worked for – but that she'd also given that up for the safety of her child. For Liz's safety. She had been loved. Even before she was born, before Sam, she'd been loved.

Red must have determined she wasn't going to ask anything at that moment. “The situation was very complex. Katarina's intel also revealed that some of my own superiors were untrustworthy – that they were, in fact, tied to a group of players working for their own global agenda. And there was still Sam to worry about. In the meantime, though, I hid Katarina with trusted friends while each of the three of us tried to come up with solutions.

“Again, it's too long of a story to get into everything that happened during that time. But I started to fear that the Cabal had become aware that your mother and I were aware of them in turn. That deal to protect Sam looked less and less possible, since we couldn't be sure who we could trust.”

Liz could imagine the stress of that distant setting easily enough. It reminded her of how paranoid and terrified she had felt just a few months ago, herself, before they had any solid leads on Berlin. And her mother had been pregnant while facing such a situation. “So,” she tried to say, then cleared her throat. “So what did you do?”

“I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't been contacted by a representative of Alan Fitch,” said Red thoughtfully. “Fitch didn't solve our problems, of course. He was a leader in the Cabal, information which he freely volunteered to me. But he did believe me when I laid out what your mother and I had found, and what we were willing to do with it.

“Right about then, you interrupted by virtue of being born,” Red went on, smiling again. “I wasn't present, but one of my friends with whom your mother was staying had been a nurse. You were healthy, and by the time I visited a week later, your mother was nearly recovered, as well.”

Liz stared at him. He really had known her for nearly all of her life. “What was my name?”

He blinked. “She called you Masha. That's a Russian diminutive of Maria, but 'Masha' was all she ever called you.”

Masha. A Russian name, because her mother was Russian. At least she had actually been born in the US, although she doubted she'd ever had a real birth certificate. “Oh,” she said, though it was so quiet that she wasn't sure he'd heard.

There was silence for several minutes. “We've been talking for a while. If you don't mind, Lizzie, I'm going to pour myself a drink. Can I get you something?”

“Please,” Liz said, trying without much success to shake herself out of the daze these revelations had brought her into. “Whatever you're having.”

He stood and went to the liquor cabinet. For Liz, watching him pour two glasses of his beverage of choice was like sitting in front of a screen playing a movie in a language she didn't speak. It was so bizarre to watch him perform this act she'd seen many times, such a normal act, after her identity had been turned upside-down – yet again. At least this time the information didn't make her feel less human.

His gaze was concerned as he sat down on the couch, closer to her this time, and held out the glass. “Are you all right, Lizzie?”

“I...” She took the glass and stared at it. “I... don't know. I guess.” She brought the alcohol to her lips and drained it, shuddering when she was finished. The burn felt real, at least. She didn't realize she had laughed until Red spoke again.

“What's the joke?”

“It's not actually funny,” Liz told him. “But I'm just comparing my reaction to this, to what it felt like to learn about my cybernetics for the first time.”

“And?” He was nervous, she thought. Strange, that he should be nervous.

“And I guess nothing could ever be as shocking, as totally unbelievable as that. Still.” She set her glass down on the coffee table. “Other than the fact that I can breathe just fine... It's, uh, pretty hard to take in.”

He took a few swallows of his own drink. “I understand,” he said. “So much of this is new for you. And I know it's difficult to absorb such a quantity of information at once, but there's still a little more that you should hear, if you can.”

She took a few breaths. “Yeah. I don't want to leave everything there. I need to know what happened next.”

He nodded. “All right.” He finished his drink. “Well. For whatever reason, there was a period of calm for several weeks after you were born. It was enough for Sam and me to forge at least a stop-gap measure to keep the government off his back. And it was enough for Katarina to grow restless.”

“What did she do?”

“She reached out to some of her trusted contacts. Soon, she was ready to pack up and secretly return to Russia with you. She told me that you and your father needed to know each other. She also said she could never successfully fight against the people who had driven her away unless she returned. While I agreed in theory, I couldn't see a way that it was safe for the two of you to go to the country your mother had betrayed,” he said. “But I was never her boss, or her keeper. And I knew she could take care of herself. She chose to go, and she brought you with her.”

“For how long?” Liz asked.

“She was away, out of contact, for a little over two years,” he replied. “Though I never had reason to know for certain, my speculation is that the two of you did not spend all that time in Russia. Katarina would have moved from place to place and probably spent time in other Eastern European countries, farther away from the center of it all.

“But after two years, things began to unravel. Several of my superiors in the Navy evidently decided they would be better off if I was out of the picture.”

“The Cabal?” Liz wondered.

“Largely, yes,” Red said. “They attempted a number of plans against me, over the course of a year. That was also when I heard from Katarina again, after years of silence. She didn't say much, but she hinted that she might need to come to the US again – with her whole family this time.” He stopped. Now his eyes were dark, and he swallowed visibly. “There was nothing at the start of that year that could have prepared me for what happened at Christmas.”

Liz felt tightness in her chest again, this time at her memory of what his file had said. “Your family,” she whispered. “God, Red. That was the Cabal, too, wasn't it?”

He gave one nod, and then stood to pour himself another drink. “It was also the end of my naval career, and, once the Cabal had completed their plan, the end of my life as a law-abiding citizen.” He sat back down. “Oh, forgive me, Lizzie. I didn't offer you another drink. Would you like one?”

She blinked. How he could offer her that in such a calm voice, in the middle of describing what had to be the worst time of his life... “No, thank you. My head's foggy enough as it is. I probably shouldn't make it worse.”

Red didn't reply other than to empty his glass. After a minute, he broke the silence once more. “Much of what happened after that Christmas doesn't relate directly to you. Some of it is in my FBI file, no doubt. Suffice it to say, by the time Katarina, her husband, and you were back in the US, the only real accomplishment I'd been able to make was to keep Sam and his work hidden. I learned of your family's return at the same time that much of the US intelligence community also heard. I couldn't even warn Katarina that she'd been discovered before I rushed to the house where you were staying.”

Liz felt her heartbeat speed up, and the hair on the back of her neck and arms stood on end. She knew where this was going. And the fact that this story would always have been heading toward the fire didn't mean she was prepared for hearing it.

“I thought I'd somehow made it to your location before the others that were seeking Katarina and her husband. I didn't see anything amiss when I arrived,” said Red. He was watching her now, and his words came slower, gentler. “It was only after I opened the front door of the house that I felt the heat and smelled smoke, and realized that some of her enemies must have already struck. Your mother and father were upstairs, though your father was dead when I reached them.” His eyes closed briefly. “Your mother was... hysterical. It was difficult to understand her explanation of what had happened. But she told me to find you, that you were hiding.”

“In the closet,” Liz whispered, clasping her arms around herself. “I – I can almost remember.”

Red looked pained. He nodded. “Katarina either didn't know or couldn't tell me where you were. When she heard that you were all still in danger, that more people were on the way, however, she pulled herself together to some extent. She said she would try to contact an associate of theirs, as backup. But the fire was already spreading so fast.”

“You saved me?” Liz asked. “It was you.” It wasn't a question. Not really. By this point in the story, she couldn't imagine it had been anyone else. She was crying again, she noticed.

His expression was heartbreaking. “You were so terrified. If you hadn't screamed...” He blinked, and Liz was stunned to see a few tears fall. “Even with that to guide me, I was still too late to spare you from the worst of it. The house was beginning to collapse. You screamed again, but when you stopped at the same time that I heard another crash, I thought I'd lost you. I almost had.”

Liz, doing her best to keep from crying in earnest, reached out and took his hand. She took a few breaths. “But you didn't. You took me to Sam.”

He moved his hand so he could grip hers in turn. Words seemed to be beyond him for a little while, but then he regained his composure enough to clear his throat and speak again. “Your injuries were so severe that I knew I had to get you to Sam as soon as possible if I wanted you to have the slightest chance of making it. But I couldn't leave without even looking for Katarina.”

“And?” Liz said. She knew it wouldn't be a happy ending. He'd already told her he was certain that her mother was dead. Yet she still wanted – needed – to know.

“I called to her, but I couldn't get to her. She was still upstairs,” he said. “The flames made the staircase impassable. She heard me, though. When she heard that I'd found you, she told me to go, to take you and keep you safe. By that time, every second that we remained inside the house was an exponential increase in risk.” His gaze fell away from hers. “So I took you and left. And somehow we both made it until we reached Sam's workshop.”

She recognized the end of the story in his tone and body language. There it was. Now she knew about her mother, her parents, and how she was connected to Reddington. She knew why she hadn't been raised by her birth parents, and why Sam couldn't tell her anything about them.

It was a lot. More, even, than she had dared to expect. But in the silence that followed, her dazed mind began to process it. “Red... God, I have so much to thank you for.” He looked up, startled, at that. “And I do, and I will. Thank you. You saved me, and you tried to save my mother, and you've – you've kept me safe so many times.” She squeezed his hand, and then gently removed hers from his so she could wipe under her eyes on both sides.

“Lizzie, please, I – I didn't tell you this so that you would thank me,” he said, looking and sounding both uneasy and distressed.

“I know,” she said. If it had been her gratitude he wanted, he could have told her before this – especially at any one of the times they had been at odds with each other. “I'm still grateful.” This time, she held his gaze until he nodded, still reluctant. “And I'll stay grateful. But I also have another question. I'd save it for another time, except it's important: it can't be just the fact that my mother helped create the Fulcrum that explains why the Cabal could possibly think I have it. That's not enough. So, why?”

“There is more to it. You're right.” Red said, much less uneasy now that the subject had changed. “Katarina had possession of a hard copy of the Fulcrum when she returned to the US with you. I believe she and her husband disagreed about what should be done with it. I can't tell you much more than that, however. I know what format the information would be in, and how to access it. What I don't know...” He paused, and met her eyes squarely. “I hope it goes without saying that this can't leave this room, but I don't know for certain what happened to that hard copy. You may have seen what happened, or you may actually have it, though I hope no one else truly thinks that.”

Liz frowned. “I still don't know how I'd know anything, or especially how I'd have the actual file.”

“I understand that, Lizzie. For now, it's not important. The detente holds.” His serious expression softened. “And I hope it's clear to you that saving you from the fire, and protecting you afterward, was and always will be my priority – far beyond any piece of blackmail.”

She did believe that. If she tried to cling to distrust, she admitted it could be possible that this whole night had been about manipulating her into revealing what she (allegedly) knew about this Fulcrum. Even acknowledging that possibility hurt too much to continue, though. And so she refused to consider it any further. Summoning a shaky smile, Liz regarded him in turn. What was it that he saw, when he looked at her that way? It wasn't too hard to posit, based on the night's story, that she had become a kind of surrogate daughter to the man who had lost his whole family right around the time he had first come in contact with her. The fact that her mother had apparently wanted him to act in that way would seem to confirm her guess. And even having been unable to personally care for the little girl she had been very clearly hadn't lessened his utter dedication.

“Any more questions?” Red asked.

He looked exhausted, she thought. “No. Well, not tonight,” she said. She yawned, covering her mouth. “I'm way too tired for anything more, even if I wanted it.” Probably, there were all kinds of details he had still not told her, but she really was at full capacity for the moment.

He nodded. “Do you need to have Dembe drive you home? It wouldn't be a problem, nor would arranging to transport your car back to you.”

She stood, and he did, as well. “I'll be all right. But thank you.” And then, before she could overthink it, Liz took a few steps toward him and put her arms around him. “For everything.”

It took him a little bit to respond, but then he brought his arms up to embrace her as well. She could feel that his heart was beating fast. Briefly, she thought he had even trembled, though she couldn't be sure. “You're welcome,” he said, nearly inaudible. They were both teary-eyed as they separated, and Liz turned to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Believe me, I'm very aware of what Red still hasn't told her about that night...)


	14. Chapter 14

~~~~~~

Considering the high levels of stress and upheaval the evening's revelations had caused in her, Liz wasn't surprised that all she wanted afterward was to sleep. She made it to Ressler's apartment with no problem, though. Letting herself in with the key he'd made her, she shortened her nighttime routine and crawled into bed beside him just fifteen minutes after arriving home. Ressler, she thought, came only half-awake as she joined him, which was fine, since she hadn't wanted to disturb him. Sleep claimed her minutes after that.

She slept solidly for the first hour or so. When the nightmare started, it started with fire. Instantly, she was terrified. The air was hot and thick, and she couldn't see through the smoke. There were shouts and then creaks and groans from the house around her. She was supposed to stay hidden, but she was so afraid of the fire.

Then the scene darkened completely, before it was replaced by vague sensations of pressure and pain all around her. She still couldn't see, but this time it wasn't because of smoke. She could hear snatches of voices. One of them was familiar, somehow. Safe. Beloved, even. And this time the other one was, too. That didn't mean this, whatever it was, didn't hurt, though.

And then there was an explosion of some kind. At first she had no idea what was happening, but then she remembered that she had to find Red. They had both been in the explosion. He might be terribly injured. That wasn't okay.

This time, when she found him and tried to revive him, however, he didn't move. Her attempts to shock him back to life met no effect, and she could feel the panic building. Braxton's face appeared right next to hers, suddenly, and as he spoke his outline blurred and he was Tom. “Wow, Liz. Did you kill this one, too? What's the Russian word for 'congratulations'?”

Liz backed away. “You're dead, Tom.”

“At least you didn't kill me,” he said, smiling. “I know you have it in you, though.” The small fires from the explosion, instead of slowly going out, were growing. They had surrounded him now, though he didn't seem to care. “Are you just going to let him burn? It wouldn't be the first time.”

She couldn't seem to move. Just as she felt the heat start to burn her own skin, Liz jerked awake, gasping. She was covered in sweat, and the crawling sense of horror from the dream remained strong. Sitting up, she pushed the hair from her face and tried to calm her breathing. It wasn't real. It was just a mishmash of images her brain had invented to try to work through recent experiences.

As she tried to tell herself this (Ressler thankfully still sound asleep next to her), some of the images and sensations faded. But she was left with the inability to shake Tom's words to her, in that twisted scene from the rig. Why had he talked like that? Of course she knew Tom was a liar, but then again, he was also dead. Why had her mind conjured those words?

Whatever the reasoning, Liz was sure she wouldn't be going back to sleep in a hurry. She got out of bed as quietly as she could, and found her clothes from the previous day again. It wasn't until she was dressed enough to leave that she fully realized that she was going back to her motel. She had to look through her old things again. Maybe there was a clue she had missed somehow.

The trip was fast, at this insanely early hour of the morning. Liz went inside, grimacing at the stale scent in the air. She closed and locked the door behind her, flipped on the light, and then knelt on the floor to pull the box of keepsakes out. She pulled out the photos first.

It was odd, this time around, to know what she knew about Sam – and about herself – as she looked through them. Here was picture after picture of her with her dad, the man who had raised her. He had also put her back together when she was at death's door, apparently, and never said a word about it all. And he and his work had been the target of at least two countries' desires, but he'd refused to give in because he only wanted his work to be used for good, to genuinely help people.

None of the old pictures of her showed any sign of anything unusual, either. Of course they didn't. There wouldn't be any obvious external sign of anything then, just as there wasn't now. She sighed. With one final trace of her fingers over the image of her dad's face, she set down the photos.

A few of her school art projects and stories had made it into this box, but she set those aside quickly, too. Other than that, the only thing remaining was her stuffed rabbit, which she'd had as long as she could remember. It had once been white, but now was a dingy, uneven gray. She picked it up. It had survived the fire with her, somehow – there were singe marks in a few places. Had her mother given it to her? Her father? Some other relative even more mysterious to her than her parents?

It occurred to her that if she had been as seriously injured as Red said, the fact that she still had this stuffed animal was impressive in itself. He must have saved it as well as her. In the middle of a blazing house fire, his life just as much at risk as hers, he'd thought ahead to how a frightened little girl who'd just lost her parents might need something familiar to hold on to. Choking up again, Liz set down the toy, closed the box, and leaned back against the bed.

The pathetic amount of sleep she'd gotten thus far tonight hadn't even approached being enough. She closed her eyes, which were by this point pricking with emotion as well as exhaustion. Now she felt lonely, too, but that was entirely her fault. It would be pushing it for her to try to drive back to Ressler's apartment when she felt this totally drained. So, wishing she hadn't bothered with this pointless trip, Liz changed into pajamas and went to bed.

Her sleep was fitful and deeply unsatisfying. When her phone rang some hours later, Liz reached for it groggily and sent it crashing to the floor. At least it hadn't broken, she thought, as she bent over and picked it up. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay, Liz? Where did you go last night? I heard you come in late, and then you weren't here this morning, and your clothes and car were gone.”

It was Ressler. “Uh.” She sat up, then yawned. “Sorry. Uh, I couldn't sleep. I went back to the... the motel.”

“You couldn't sleep, so you left?” She couldn't tell if he sounded irritated, or just confused.

“No, it's not that.” She yawned again, trying to clear her head. “Red told me...” No, she wasn't opening that can of worms right then. “I wanted to check some things. And then it was so late, I didn't want to drive back. But I'm sorry. I guess I should have texted or something.”

“But you're okay,” he said.

“Yeah. Well, I'm tired. But I'm fine.”

That was an overstatement, as it turned out. That day went fairly normally, for the most part. But she couldn't shake a feeling of unease that mixed poorly with her sleep deprivation, with the result that she was irritable and jumpy. It didn't help that, when she tried to figure out why she felt uneasy (like Dr. Titus would have suggested), she couldn't find any cause except a vague idea that it had started with her nightmare the previous night.

“Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Liz? You said you were fine this morning, but I think the number of words you said today that weren't angry is pretty low,” Ressler said, as they left the building that evening.

She sighed, irritated even by that comment. “I'd tell you if I knew.”

Ressler frowned. “What was it that Reddington wanted to talk to you about?”

“Not here,” she said.

Once they reached his apartment, Liz sat in what was becoming her spot on Ressler's couch. She did her best to gather her thoughts. “Reddington had a lot to say. Finally. So much of what he'd refused to tell me, although definitely not all of it.” Her hands clasped together tightly. “My parents... He knew them. They were Russian spies.” Now she'd said it out loud, to someone else.

His eyes widened. “Seriously?” At her nod, he blew out a breath. “Wow. So that's what's bothering you?”

Liz shrugged. “I guess. There's a lot more to the story. Reddington was also the one who saved me from the fire where I got this.” She held out her right hand, palm up. “And that was when I – I first got my cybernetics. Because of the fire.”

“How old were you?” He didn't sound like he'd started to distrust her.

“Four,” she said. Then she licked her lips and her eyes slid away from him. “But he's known me since just a little while after I was born. I... I don't remember. I barely even remember the fire.”

“That's not surprising. You were a little girl.”

When she couldn't take the suspense anymore, she looked up again. He was watching her, thoughtful, but he didn't seem to be horrified. “I promise I wasn't lying, when I told you and Cooper I didn't know why Reddington chose me.”

His eyes widened again, and then narrowed. “Liz. Why – What are you worried about? You think I'm going to, what, assume you've been lying this whole time? Because no one ever told you the truth until now?”

Her hands were now gripping each other so tightly that they had started to ache. “My identity isn't real. I used a fake identity to apply to the FBI, for God's sake.” She had thought she was raising her voice for that last sentence, but instead it cracked and faltered. When she continued, it was a pained whisper. “I could be a – a sleeper agent.” Had that been what the nightmare version of Tom had meant?

“Stop it, Liz,” he said gently. “You're not. Anyone who knows you would know you're not. And technically, you didn't break a single law on your FBI application. There's a reason those kinds of forms have you swear that you told the truth to the best of your ability.”

She choked out a laugh. “Fine, I didn't break the law back then. I don't even know what the right thing would be to do now.”

Slowly, he reached over and put his hand on top of hers. “I don't, either. But I don't think that's something you need to solve right now. It's going to be okay.”

She relaxed her hands enough to grab his. “You think so?” She blinked back the threatening tears in her eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. He made as if to speak, and then stopped. Then he shook his head. “Not that I blame you for being thrown off, though. That's a hell of a thing to try to wrap your head around.”

“It's not really what I imagined, when I used to dream about my birth parents,” said Liz. “I mean, according to Reddington, I was actually born in the US. So there's that. Although apparently it was in some kind of safe house, so...” She scoffed. “I don't think I've gotten very far in wrapping my head around this.”

Again, he didn't immediately reply. After a minute, though, he said, “Well, I'm here, and I'll be working on that, too, I guess. If that helps at all.”

She nodded. “It does,” she told him.

That night, Liz's dreams followed roughly the same pattern as they had the previous night. The difference came when Tom appeared to accuse her as she tried frantically to revive Red. This time, she happened to look down at her hands, and found them covered in blood. Gasping, she stumbled back and then lost her footing and sank to the ground.

“See, Liz, you're not that different from me. We're both killers. You've just been pretending not to be – for even longer than I did with you.” He smiled coldly. “You can stop now, though. It's going to come out sooner or later, anyway.”

The chill of her horror warring with the growing heat of the flames, Liz looked from her hands to Red's still body. The fire was getting closer. “No! No, I – I didn't. It wasn't me.”

Laughing, Tom shook his head. “You just keep telling yourself that.” He turned to go, the flames apparently not hurting him.

“No! I'm not – What are you talking about?” Liz tried to stand, but now her legs wouldn't move. And she could smell burning flesh and hair, mixed in with the choking smoke, and her stomach rebelled as she came to the unmistakable conclusion. “Red! Red, no! Please, get up!”

“Liz! Wake up!”

What? Who was shouting? There were tears on her face, and her vision was blurred. “Red. God, no. I – I'm sorry!”

“Liz, you've got to wake up now! Do you hear me?”

Her eyes opened. It was dark, but in the dim light of the single lamp, there was Ressler, sitting up in bed and regarding her. His expression cleared as she met his eyes. “There you are.”

“Ressler,” she said, blinking, unable to form any other words.

“Yeah,” he said. “What the hell were you dreaming about?”

She shivered, the smell still not having completely gone away. God, the smell. She lurched out of the bed with a moan and ran for the bathroom. By the time she got there, though, the nausea had started to fade. Instead, she leaned against the doorway, breathing deeply through her nose, lips pressed together.

“You okay, Liz?” Ressler's voice came from behind her.

She shook her head. “I can't do this.” She turned to face him. “I can't do this, and I can't make you do this.”

“What are you talking about?”

At least her stomach wasn't churning anymore. Not from the dream, anyway. “Ressler, what kind of relationship is this for you? All you get is a front-row seat to my drama – plus, now you have things you have to lie about. Big, crazy things that you shouldn't even have to, to be involved in.” And she hadn't even told him about the Cabal yet, or the Fulcrum.

He rubbed a hand across his face. “Well, first of all, no one's forcing me to do anything. I'm not trying to do this with you for what I get out of it, and I hope you didn't really need me to say that.”

Liz sighed. “No, yeah. You're right. Of course you aren't. I just... _I'm_ so goddamned tired of this drama. It's just one thing after another. I have to believe you're tired, too. Though I will say you're good at not showing it.”

“I'm not going to say I'm not tired,” he said. Then he gave her a look and raised one eyebrow. “Especially since none of this seems to involve us getting a lot of sleep.”

She scoffed lightly. “True. Sorry.”

“But before anything else, I'm your partner. That hasn't changed. And that's why we have each other's back,” he went on. Then he stepped closer to her, and pushed a lock of her hair behind one ear, before gesturing around. “Look where you are, Liz. If I remember right, you're standing just about where you found me when I was detoxing. I was too weak to even get up off the floor without your help. You made sure I didn't just lie there – and you did that while you were still trying to deal with the shit your ex put you through. And then you kept my secret. So I'm not the only one who has lied for my partner.”

Though Liz still felt like it would be better for him if she pushed him away, that he deserved better, he did have a good point. Their partnership was important to her. To both of them, it was clear. So she reached out a hand to lay on the side of his face. “I'm really glad I did find you that day. You shouldn't have had to go through that alone.”

He smiled a little. “Yeah. And I'm glad you didn't try to deal with everything you've been through this year by yourself. See? That means we're both good with this, right?”

In response, she leaned forward to kiss him. Neither of them moved beyond the kiss, and that was all right. When they had broken apart, she rested her head against his chest. “All right, you win. But I'm still going to make an appointment with Dr. Titus. We both need to be able to sleep, for one thing.”

Ressler stroked a hand down her back. “That would be good.”

Then she stepped away from him so she could meet his eyes. “The other reason for the appointment is that, while I appreciate you being such a gentleman, one of the things I'm tired of is not being able to find out what it will be like when we're really together.”

His eyes widened, but then he smiled again, broadly this time. “Yeah. I'm definitely not going to disagree with that.”

Liz turned off the bathroom light and went out into the hall. “Thanks, partner.”

“You're welcome, Liz.”


	15. Chapter 15

~~~~~~

Several more cases passed. Some, Liz knew would have been easier if she'd been able to use her electricity, but most of the time those situations were far too public to risk it. That meant the task force went on much as it had before. Granted, she, Ressler, and Samar were all now aware of another way Liz could fight. They all understood that it wasn't going to be an everyday occurrence, however.

Liz's dreams were still far from restful. She'd had a few sessions with Dr. Titus, in which she had explained that she'd recently found out that her birth parents were the kind of people she would have been charged with arresting. She described her recurring nightmares, as well, keeping some of the images vague.

The doctor had asked her if she was afraid her parents' careers meant she was fated to be a bad person. “No,” said Liz, remembering Dr. Linus Creel with an unpleasant jolt. Then she sighed. “Well, I mean, I found out before – before I was attacked that my adoptive father also had secrets. Big ones.” And then there was Red, who had been a force in her life long before she knew anything about him...

“So you're worried that it's both nature and nurture,” said Dr. Titus.

“Maybe,” Liz admitted. She also knew that her mother had made dangerous choices just to save her daughter. That didn't count for nothing.

Dr. Titus nodded. “What would you say to someone who asked your expert opinion – a friend, say, who knew you studied psychology, and was afraid that her upbringing and genetics had predetermined a life of criminal exploits?”

Liz looked down at her hands, and then back up at the other woman. She rubbed her left thumb along her scar. “I'd tell my friend to focus on her own choices and how they'll affect her life, instead of worrying about things she can't control.”

“That's right,” said the doctor. “I know, especially as a person with a dangerous job, that you're aware that there's a lot of life that you simply can't control. But to decide to respond to that by abdicating your responsibility... Let me put it this way, Liz: I'm not going to tell you that your worries are foolish. In fact, having the self-awareness to wonder, to keep track of what kind of person you're becoming, is a good thing. All right?”

Her nod was hesitant. This was good, and made sense, but something about it didn't quite erase the images from her nightmares.

“So I won't tell you to ignore that kind of thought,” said Dr. Titus. “Although I will tell you to remember those relaxation techniques we practiced before, and to use them before bed, so you won't keep worrying while you sleep.”

The doctor's advice for her other issue – for how to be able to be physically intimate – was not quite as straightforwardly followed. Once she'd heard it, she agreed personally that it sounded logical. It wasn't even complicated. She just wasn't sure how romantic it was going to be to start off, for her or for Ressler.

But unless she wanted the two of them to stay basically roommates, this was the only possible next step. So she swallowed her embarrassment and explained Dr. Titus's suggested guidelines to Ressler. “I know it's, um, not exactly very... I mean, it doesn't sound like it would be the most – spontaneous,” she finished, staring at her lap until she made herself look up.

Ressler scratched the side of his face. “Maybe not. But this is still something we both want. I'm willing to try, uh, regulating things a bit. And maybe it won't even end up being all that awkward. I can handle you taking charge.”

Liz gave an uncertain smile. “Really?”

“I think we should see how it goes,” was his response.

Her breathing quickened when she saw how his eyes had darkened. “Okay.” There was no point overthinking this. She followed him to the bedroom. “But, uh, I have a few extra things to take off, remember,” she said, gesturing toward her wrists.

“Yeah,” he said, divesting himself of his tie and starting to unbutton his shirt. “I don't think I'm going to forget that anytime soon.”

Liz had practiced enough by now that she could remove her 'cape' without getting it tangled in her clothes. So that was one tiny area of potential awkwardness avoided. As she was setting it aside, she was very aware that he was mostly naked just a few feet away, and very likely watching her. When she turned, her suspicions were confirmed. He was totally still, with a faint expression of awe on his face. She felt herself blush, and then let her gaze stray down his body before meeting his gaze. She cleared her throat. “What are you thinking about?”

He blinked, and his own voice was husky when he replied. “I'm thinking... I don't know how I got this lucky.”

Liz smiled. “There hasn't been any 'getting lucky' yet, mister,” she pointed out. And then she walked closer to him, so she could kiss him very gently, one hand on his chest. “But I'll tell you something: I like your chances.”

“You do, huh?” he asked, kissing her back. “Good to know.” After a second, he pulled back just slightly. “So. Tell me what you need, Liz.”

She wasn't nervous – not even about having to do this carefully, so that they wouldn't be able to get totally caught up in the moment (not this time, at least). That didn't matter anymore. They were good together in every other way. This was going to be very good, too. She kissed him again, longer this time, until they were both panting when they stopped to breathe. “I'm going to need to be on top, first of all.”

“All right,” he said. “I can definitely work with that.”

She shivered. That low tone of his was doing all kinds of things to her. But she brought her mind back around to what they were talking about. “Good. Then let's move this to the bed. If you don't mind that I'll be telling you when we go to each next step, after that, like I was saying...?”

“I don't mind,” he said, then kissed her again. “If I get ahead of where you are, just tell me. I mean it.”

“I will,” she said, smiling at him again. “Thank you, Ressler.” Despite what he'd said, she knew she was the real lucky one.

~~~~~~

It had been really good, though not perfect, Ressler thought later. He didn't think Liz would be annoyed with him if he admitted that. But as he looked at her sleeping peacefully next to him, her face pressed into his shoulder, he didn't have any complaints.

He'd been afraid, for one long moment, that even her doctor's suggestions weren't going to let her be able to stay physically close to him, after all. She'd frozen suddenly at one point – he wasn't even sure what had triggered it. And to his chagrin, it had taken him a second or two to notice that she wasn't responding. But before he'd done more than ask her if she was okay, she had sat back and nodded. “Just give me a minute,” she'd told him. She'd been breathless, but she hadn't looked nearly as panicked as he knew she could, if things were going really badly.

So now, here they were. She was still here with him. Once she'd recovered herself, they had been able to find their rhythm again. And they'd been right – they were good together. Not perfect, but he was fine with that. That just meant they had time to keep practicing. Which was a process he was looking forward to.

~~~~~~

Liz hadn't wanted to go on this undercover mission without her cape. And she had seriously considered wearing it. Obviously, having a secret weapon instead of the service weapon she couldn't bring could have been a major advantage in such an uncertain situation. But as she was putting on the clothes that would hopefully turn her into a passable imitation of Josephine Sullivan, she changed her mind.

The very fact that everything about this mission to find Reddington was so unknown was exactly why it would be foolhardy to risk showing up wearing technology that had to stay a secret. Of course she and the whole task force hoped it would be a simple in-and-out at the hotel. But if so much as a metal detector was involved at any point, Liz would probably have to remove the bracelets, anyway. And if it was a really state-of-the-art metal detector, it might see more than the bracelets. Liz didn't want to risk becoming an item to be auctioned off, herself – especially without even getting the intel on how to find Red.

So she didn't wear her cape on the op. It felt dangerous not to, as if she was missing something vital. She wasn't sure if Ressler had noticed the lack before she entered the hotel. But despite everything, it felt like the right choice.

When she woke up in a bed however much time later, all but her undergarments having been removed while she was unconscious, her choice was confirmed. There was no way she could have gotten through this without whoever did having noticed the wires and where they attached. Of course, now she felt like throwing up at the knowledge that she'd undergone such a violation yet again. It was all she could do to stay in character when Earl King came in to welcome her to his disgusting auction.

But she got a hold of herself and put on the proffered clothes and earrings. She pretended to be a mildly interested customer once the event began. And for some of the items, that was easy enough. Maintaining her disinterest was a problem when she saw the boy, though. Her stomach turned again, for an entirely different reason this time. For a moment, she imagined that she had brought her cape. She wanted to drain the electricity out of this place and then maybe use it to set something on fire – but only if she could get this kid and Reddington out of here first.

That was about when Red came to her rescue, ironically: from the seat where they had him tied up, he calmly filled in the facts about whatever Princeton location Josephine would have known about but Liz did not. He was perfectly unruffled as he, too, pretended only a mild interest in her, a vague acquaintance. That was fine. It helped her keep focused, as well.

She knew upping the bid on Red's auction was a gamble. But she had to do something, and no other ideas came to mind. Red himself, on the other hand, definitely had a specific purpose when he joined in the bidding. At first, she couldn't picture why he thought he could get away with it.

And then she saw the Kings' security growing active. She had no choice but to assume that meant her cover was blown. That would make sense, especially if Red had come to this conclusion as well, and thus provided her with a diversion. Mind whirling and heart pounding, Liz took the chance he'd given her to slip out of the room.

That didn't mean she was just going to leave, though. Instead, she found her way to the 'storage' room. There, minutes later, she found Red imprisoned in what looked like a miniature version of the first place she ever remembered seeing him. Vincent, the little boy, was in a cage a few yards away. Others whose story she didn't know were also caged. It was simple enough to take down the guard, but freeing them would be more difficult.

“Lizzie, you shouldn't be here,” said Red seriously.

Ignoring him, she bent down to look at the locking mechanism. It was electronic. She had a suspicion that if the keypad was shocked...

“You're not... _equipped_ for that right now, Lizzie,” Red said. “Are you? Listen to me. I was brought in through a series of tunnels, that way. If you hurry, you'll be miles away before they even realize you're gone. Take the boy and go.”

Now she met his eyes. “You could be killed.” Sounds from the house's security team were becoming audible. They were running out of time. How much would it hurt her to send out a small charge without the wires and gloves? There was no reason it would have to be as bad as when she'd killed Gifford. She had more control now.

“Lizzie. You've done enough. It's time to go.”

“But there is another thing I could do,” Liz said. She put her right hand on the keypad, and then changed her mind. It would be better to burn her left hand, so her right would still be usable.

“No. Stop this,” said Red, his tone growing more urgent. “Go.”

She concentrated and released what she'd judged might be enough energy. She couldn't hold back a grunt of pain at the resulting burn. Still, there was no accompanying dizziness or confusion, and she could tell the electricity had done its job. Holding her smarting left hand close to her, she pulled open the door to Red's prison. Then she found the keys on the prone body of the man she'd knocked out, and released Vincent from his cage. “Let's get out of here.” Quickly, she grabbed the guard's gun, too, passing it to Red. Since one of her hands was disabled, it made more sense for him to have it.

He took it silently, a grim expression on his face. Then he gestured for her and the boy to exit first, as the sounds of their enemies approached. Quickly, they made their way down the network of tunnels. “You two should leave. You can get another gun from the next guard we come across.”

“And what would you be doing while I left?” Liz asked, irritated. Hadn't she made it clear she wasn't just skipping out?

“Getting my own clothes back, for one thing,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. Maybe he wanted to take his revenge on Earl King, and on the man who had won his auction. That wouldn't surprise her. Not that she thought he was lying about his clothes, either. If it came right down to it, she herself would prefer to change as soon as possible.

“The exit's that way,” he announced, after another minute of silent hurrying. He pointed.

“I still don't have a gun,” said Liz. She turned to Vincent. “I need you to run through that door. Go as far and as fast as you can. Don't stop, okay?”

“Aren't you coming with me?”

“No one's found us yet,” said Liz. “You'll be fine, as long as you keep going. I'll come out soon, too.” The fingers on her left hand twinged, and she felt an answering pain in her abdomen, as well.

“Okay,” said the kid, and he took off for the door.

“Let's go,” said Liz, once he was out of sight.

Red looked like he wanted to argue, but he must have decided it wasn't worth it.

As luck – or something else – would have it, they ran into the African warlord who had tried to buy Reddington almost as soon as they exited the tunnel that led back into the house. Liz hadn't yet had the chance to grab a gun, so she had stayed behind Red as they moved.

“Yaabari,” said Red pleasantly, both men immediately aiming at each other. “Branching out tonight, aren't we? Tell me, who's backing you in this new endeavor of yours?”

“A man in Johannesburg has put a forty million dollar bounty on your head,” said the man. “I still intend to collect.”

“Ah. In that case, holding that weapon on me won't do you any good,” Red replied. “Let me make you a counter-offer, instead of this charade.”

“I don't think you are listening to me,” the man said, smiling. “The bounty is on your _head_. All I have to do is get it to him. As long as it is recognizable, I still get the money.”

Liz swallowed. This standoff was giving the Kings' people more time to find them. And she was not going to stand by while this punk might flinch and kill Red. But he hadn't seen her yet, she thought. She had an idea. It was too bad she couldn't communicate it to Red beforehand. Still, it might work. Very quietly, she leaned forward and whispered, “Play along,” to him.

Then, still holding her injured hand close to herself, she went to his right side and made to disarm him. To her relief, he grunted and allowed her to take his gun, raising his hands and his eyebrows. “Miss... Sullivan, was it? I thought you'd have scattered by now.”

Liz held the weapon as steadily as she could, one-handed, pointing it directly at his heart. “I wasn't about to leave without getting what I really came for.”

“I won the auction,” Yaabari cut in, and when she glanced toward him, he looked unsure, thrown by this development. “I will be claiming my property now.”

“You think so?” she said. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she whirled to face him and shot him in the head. Her aim was true.

“Well. That does just as well as an unexpected bolt of electricity, I suppose,” said Red. His tone was light, but he still looked grave. Then he went and picked up the gun from Yaabari's body. “There's one more person I'd like to see.”

As Liz had expected, this further meeting was with Earl King. They arrived just in time to interrupt some kind of confrontation among all three King men. Red, of course, only cared about what he cared about: taking Earl out of the equation. She had no compunction about backing him up on this – nor did she feel a drop of sorrow when Red's Russian roulette shot killed the man.

She was also relieved when it became obvious that the FBI had found them, not long after that. She was ready to be done with this. Her hand hurt, and she was tired, and she wanted to be wearing something comfortable. Also, she wanted to see Ressler – to see his familiar, serious face and know he would make sure the team secured and processed the scene to the best of their abilities.

Later, after Ressler had asked her if she was all right, after her hand had been checked out by the EMTs on scene (Liz had said she'd been electrocuted by a malfunctioning lock device, which was close to the truth), and she'd been bandaged, and she'd changed out of the dress provided by the Kings, Liz found Red's car outside. Dembe had insisted he come to the scene, no doubt. She got in the back and sat down across from Red. There were a number of topics she could think of that they could discuss. But somehow none of them did anything but swirl around in her head.

Finally, Red broke the silence. “You can never do that again.”

She sighed internally. So it was going to be like that, then. “You're welcome.”

But he would not be deterred. “I'm serious. You can never do that again. Promise me.”

Liz could come up with a half dozen reasons that this op had been both worthwhile and successful. She listed them for him. This was a good result, and she wanted him to acknowledge that. When he refused, she realized what he was really getting at. “You. You're talking about you.” Her irritation changed to sadness. It was painful to contemplate how damaged he was, how much his own reputation and way of life must isolate him from accepting help from others. “Has anyone ever helped you?”

He didn't answer as she continued to try to understand this reaction of his. She remembered, too, that he had been equally upset by her genuine gratitude upon learning how he'd saved her as a child. But he couldn't consistently help her, over and over again, demonstrate clearly that he cared about her, and then expect her not to even feel anything in return. “I risked my life for you because I care about you. Deal with that,” she told him, feeling tears start in her eyes. “And when someone does something nice, you're supposed to say, 'Thank you.'”

This was enough to inspire an answer. “Thank you,” he said, voice almost inaudible.

“You're welcome,” she repeated, the tears running down her cheeks now.

“But never do it again,” he insisted.

She closed her eyes, then wiped her face with her uninjured hand. The vehicle began its journey, presumably back to the Post Office. Yet she wasn't going to leave it at that, either. “Red, you don't get to decide that I'm ready to – to know what you've told me about my past, that I've proven myself or whatever your logic is, and then forbid me from choosing to act to help you. Especially now that I know what you've done for me, though I'd still have helped you before I knew that.”

He swallowed. “Lizzie. You risked your life and knowingly hurt yourself.”

“You didn't have anyone to watch your back,” said Liz. “And I'll be fine.”

This clearly didn't satisfy him, but he didn't reply. The rest of the trip was silent. Liz hoped she had made at least some impression with her explanation. But she wasn't quite ready to dig as deep as she could for a reason he couldn't argue against. Even Dembe being present wasn't private enough. She could, however, at least admit to herself that Red had become necessary to her. Now that he was in her life – back in it, she supposed... Well. It was true that he was still likely to protect her more than the other way around. But when there was a need like there had been tonight, she would do her best. And he would have to deal with it.


	16. Chapter 16

~~~~~~

When Liz got back from her checkup with Dr. Steiner, she didn't look happy. Ressler noticed that right away. He hadn't expected this visit to involve anything big (her burns from the King house were already healed), but maybe it had. “Hey, what's wrong?” He looked her over. Physically, she seemed okay.

“I got a new, updated set of gear,” she said flatly. She pointed at her left wrist with her right hand. “The bracelets are lighter. Prettier.” She scoffed. “And it can all handle even more voltage.”

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out slightly. She didn't just look unhappy. She looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. “So what's wrong?” he repeated, softer.

Sitting down heavily on the couch, Liz put her head in her hands. “I guess we hadn't even talked about it. It's not like we could – like it would have made any sense right now. But I happened to ask the doctor tonight, and he said... I can't have children.”

Ressler felt himself fall into the seat next to her. “What?” He hadn't thought, from the paper she'd let him read describing the extent of her cybernetics...

“I mean,” she said, sniffing and sitting up, “he said I could get pregnant just as easily as anyone else. But...” She took a deep breath. “But as much as my cybernetic organs work basically the same as – as any woman's body for the most part, they're also not designed to move, to be pushed aside by the growth of a baby. So they wouldn't shift like they would need to, and that could hurt both me and any potential baby. Plus, if anything ever went wrong with them, and I had to – and the doctor had to use my chip to put me out, the setup he has, that I have, it's not designed to keep another life besides mine going.”

That made a cold, terrible kind of sense, Ressler thought. “God, Liz. I'm so sorry.”

She shook her head, lips beginning to tremble. “Me, too. You probably – I mean, it would be normal for you to want a family, and I can't –”

Her face crumpled, and he took her into his arms immediately. A second later, she was sobbing into his chest. His heart squeezed as he held her, stroked her, and whispered anything and everything he could think of to soothe her. Of course there was nothing that would make this better, but he could and did tell her that he was here, and that he wasn't going anywhere, and that they would figure it out together.

He didn't know how long it took for her sobs to subside. She didn't speak, or move from where she was, even when her shudders began to calm, too. He ran his hands down her back again, pausing only to wipe the few tears off his own face. This wasn't fair. She shouldn't have to deal with this, on top of everything else that had been done to her. _They_ shouldn't have to deal with this.

“Do you want kids?” she asked, breaking the silence a few minutes later. Her voice was quiet and hoarse, muffled, too, by the fact that her face was still buried in his shirt.

“Liz,” he said, “you have nothing to apologize to me for.”

“Do you, though?” she insisted, turning so that she could partially face him.

He sighed. He couldn't lie to her. She trusted him – and he was pretty sure she'd be able to guess if he tried to skirt the truth here. “I never had any big dreams about having kids, but yeah, I guess I do.”

“I always wanted them,” she said. “And I know I could adopt – we could. But after having moved forward as far as I did in the process of adoption, with Tom...” It was her turn to sigh, her breath still hitching a little. “With everything that whole period represents in my life, the idea of adoption isn't as attractive to me as it used to be.”

He frowned. “I'm not saying that doesn't make sense, but...” He swallowed, and tried to think of how to ask the next question without trying to sound pushy, or angry.

She beat him to it. “Yeah, and I'm not saying I couldn't do it.” She sat up. “I'm not closing the door on the idea. It's too important to me to just drop without another thought, just because of Tom. I don't want him to keep ruining my life.”

“Me, neither,” Ressler agreed with feeling. “Like you said, this is the first we're talking about kids, though. And there's still a lot we would have to talk about. Right?”

Liz nodded. “Right.” She took another deep breath. Her eyes were still red, but she looked a little bit less devastated. “But it's a good thing I've been on the pill.”

For a moment, Ressler pictured what it would be like to watch his partner be pregnant – and then have both her life and the baby's be at risk because of it. It wasn't an image he wanted to spend any time on. He cleared his throat. “Yeah.” Knowing that Audrey might have been carrying his child when she'd died had been awful enough.

“I think I should tell you something, Ressler,” said Liz, after a period of silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. “Something else, that I've known for a while. Remember what I said about my parents, and the fire?”

He frowned. “Yeah.” He wasn't about to forget that she was Russian by blood, if not birth, for one thing, nor that it turned out Raymond Reddington had been protecting her for her whole life. He had figured there had to be more to the story. “You don't have to talk about that right now. You've already had a hell of a time tonight.”

She sat up straight. “No, I know. But you should know. Somehow this, finding this out about me, feels like a kind of warning sign for what might be coming.”

Now he was confused, and alarmed. “What are you talking about, Liz?”

“The people who burned down the house where I was, who killed my parents – they're still around,” she said. “As I understand it, they're also the ones who first forced Reddington to become a fugitive. Some of what's in his record – it's a lie, he was framed.”

Ressler bit back his automatic denial of that possibility. “He told you this?”

“Yes, and I believe him,” she said. “He doesn't lie to me, Ressler. I know that sounds stupid, probably, but the way I found out about him and Tom was by asking him to his face. If he was going to lie to me, he would have done it then.”

Again, Ressler paused before speaking. He could see that logic. “All right, I'm following. So who are these people?” He listened in astonishment and growing dismay as she described this Cabal, and how she and Reddington were tied to it.

To say he had questions after hearing this was an understatement. “If this is all true – and I guess I don't know why Reddington would lie to you about this – why hasn't someone from this group already come after you?” His stomach clenched at the thought. Facing some nebulous, unknown enemy had to be one of his worst case scenarios. He preferred his enemies to be straightforward and obvious.

“Reddington has something on them. A blackmail file,” she said.

“Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier?” Ressler said. This, he was angry about. “I can't watch your back for enemies I don't even know about.”

Liz sighed. “I didn't want to make you a target, too. Plus, we both still barely know what to do with all the other stuff Red told me about my past.”

He should have guessed her reasoning would be something like that. A tiny, cowardly part of him almost wished she hadn't told him at all. The idea that a group like this could exist, and could even have operatives inside the US? He didn't know what he'd do if someone like Cooper, for example, could be dirty.

But Liz confirmed that this kind of situation was a possibility, that Reddington had said as much. He still didn't want to believe it. “How the hell does Reddington just live with knowing he could be betrayed at any moment?”

“Well, that's supposed to be what the blackmail file is for. But I don't know.” Liz shrugged. “He's had a lot of experience, I guess.” Then she clenched her jaw. “I don't want to have that kind of experience, though. These people are already the reason I don't even get to decide whether I want to have children. I won't let them control my life beyond that, too.”

He gave a slow nod. “What are you going to do?”

“I don't know yet,” she said. “But I'm not going to sit on the sidelines. That's for damn sure.”

He saw the certainty, as well as the deep anger, in her face and clenched fists. “Well, count me in. I'm not about to just sit around and let some group of people manipulate the people and the country I care about, just so they can stay in power.”

She met his eyes, a faint smile on her lips, while the determined expression did not fade. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

~~~~~~  
Office of the Director of National Clandestine Services

“You're sure of this?” The Director lowered the report to his desk, meeting his operative's eyes.

“Yes. My monitoring program gets a signal every time I'm within a hundred yards of Agent Keen,” the man said. He frowned. “I haven't been able to hack into that signal yet, but I'll get there. The point is, she must be carrying Project Steel-ready tech. And it must be completely integrated into her daily life, since there's been no other sign of it except the signal.”

The Director nodded slowly. “Well, this is certainly an interesting wrinkle. The daughter of the spy who originally tried to steal that tech turns out to have been living with it for years. Who knows what other secrets she's been hiding?”

“Can she be recruited?” asked the other man. “There's no telling the kind of capabilities we could give her – or that she might already have.”

“It's doubtful that she'd join us willingly,” the Director replied. “She's already in Reddington's pocket. But I have a few ideas for the right kind of leverage.”

It was the other man's turn to nod. “Okay. And if that doesn't work, and all I get is the opportunity to see what she's got, we'd still come out on top here.”

“Duly noted,” said the Director. “When everything is ready, we'll take her and see if she can be reasoned with. But for the time being, stick to reconnaissance only. That will be all.”

“Yes, sir,” said the man.

When he was alone in his office again, the Director smiled. It was almost too good to be true, that when he made his move against Reddington, he'd also be getting his hands on the technology the group had been pursuing for decades. Things were looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is definitely a "To Be Continued..." ending. I still have more ideas, but this seemed like a natural stopping point for the moment.
> 
> Once I have enough to start the sequel, you can expect more significant canon divergence, FYI. Thanks for reading!


End file.
